The Struggle
by Stretch
Summary: Zoe gets a surprise, through her first day of classes, and a glimpse of her...well, what used to be her car. And what is so wrong about sending one e-mail back home? Well, you'll have to wait and see... ~Chapter 32 Up!!!!~ Please R&R!!
1. My Name Is Zoe

 "Jeez!  Take it easy Zoe!"

ZIP!  WUMPH!

            The yellow ball whizzed out of my hand and smacked into Cassidy's mit.  Hard.

ZIP!  WUMPH!

            I said nothing as I caught the ball and hurled another pitch her direction.

ZIP!  WUMPH!

            "Fine, but if you blow out your arm before Monday's game don't blame me," Cassidy called from behind her mask.  That stopped me mid-windmill.  I was throwing harder than I should be.  Hadn't warmed up either.  In fact, I wasn't even scheduled to work out today, but I just had to blow off some steam.  "C'mon, just go through your cool down and we'll get out of here."

            "Okay, fine."

            "Thank goodness.  Thought you were going to break my hand," she said, removing her mask and moving closer to me.  Her long, black hair stuck out from the static of her helmet cap.   I started going through the gentle cool down motions.  "So, you want to talk about what happened?"

            "Not really," I replied quickly.  Cassidy was just trying to help.  I knew that.  She was my rock; both my catcher and my best friend.  She was the level headed one, the easy tempered one.  The one who kept me from being stupid and rash.  Me, I was the loose cannon of the friendship.  I had the quick temper, the do-or-die attitude.  Together, we were an unbeatable team.  

Separate, we could barely function.

            "You're going to tell me eventually.  So why don't you do it now.  That way I'll only have to ice my once this week," she kidded me.  I smiled, despite myself. 

            "Bombed another physics exam," I finally admitted.

            "How bad?"

            "54%"

            "Ouch!"

            "Gee, thanks for the encouragement," I muttered.

            "No.  Ouch, that hurt.  I'm five feet away and your hurling fastballs in a cool down.  Tha-," she started to complain.  But the lights in the gym began to flicker.

            "Crap!  Not again," I muttered.  Our school is about as old a dirt.  That includes the electrical system.  It was about 7, so the custodians were all gone.  Didn't matter, I'd grown up in this school.  I marched into the storage closet and pried open the fuse box.  Began jiggling the wires.  I … I wasn't paying attention though.  I put my hand over an open circuit and another exposed wire.  I saw what happened next as if it were in slow motion.

            I saw the sparks flying as the charge ran up my fingers and through my arm.  But there was no pain, only the sensation of the current changing direction.  I _felt_ it run back down my arm, out of my body.  And I saw as it launched from my fingers.  A concise bolt aimed directly at the fuse box.  Then everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Disclaimer: I own Zoe, I own Cassidy, I own Audrey, I own 646.  I also own anyone not bearing a Marvel copyright logo on their a**.  I don't own the X-Men (unfortunately) and am not making a profit by using them in this story.  Don't sue and we all get to keep on living happily ever after  :)


	2. Bitchy Nurses, Perky Doctors

A/N: Wow!  This got way more responses than I'd figured.  Originally I'd written this just so my stupid muses would shut up.  But I think I'll actually pursue this for a while.  It will however take a backseat to my current fic Of Morphs and Meteor Rocks, and Animorphs/Smallville X-over posted in the Ani-forum, but I'll try to update quickly.  Please chew me out if I go mary-(sue, jane, kate…take your pick) on you, or if I go ooc.  Enjoy chapter 2 and keep those reviews coming.

Chapter 2

            I knew where I was before I open my eyes.  The thick smell of astringent burning inside my nose was found in only one place.  Hospital.

            I'd been admitted to a hospital twice before.  Once back in 6th grade when one of my teammates was warming up and hit me in the side of the head with her bat.  Gave me a concussion, I was damn proud of it too!  Second time was when I was fifteen and had an allergic reaction a medication I was on.  Weird reaction too.  Out of all the places to get hives, you'd expect your elbows and behind your ears to be low on that list.  But apparently not with me.  I waited 3 hours for them to give me to Benadryl and send me home. 

            I was not all that fond of hospitals, to tell you the truth, but I forced my eyes open anyways.  

            Empty.  I was alone with a room full of beeping monitors and my thoughts.  Wait?  What was I doing here in the first place.  I remember…falling, and having a headache.  The circuits, had I crossed them that night?  Then why wasn't I dead?  There was a soft knock on my door.  A nurse walked in without waiting for a reply.  'Why knock if she was just going to come in anyways,' I wondered.  

            "Well, you're awake.  That's a good sign," she murmured half-hazard, going about her tasks.  Yep, gotta love that hospital employee personality. 

            "Yeah, I kinda figured that out already.  Now how 'bout telling me what happened and why I'm still here," I told her rather curtly.  She shot me a dirty look and proceeded to open the floor-length, pastel curtains.  

            "The doctor will see you to discuss that," she explained tersely.

            "Yeah, but I don't want to wait for the doctor, I want you to tell me."

            "You'll just have to wait," she said, and left the room with a flip of her hair.  Stupid ditz!  Why was _everything_ always so complicated?

            "Grrrr!" I growled.  Obviously I wasn't in the best mood.  I pulled myself onto my side, looking at the mass of knobs and wires over my bed, searching for the call button.  Unfortunately, all I managed to do was pull the I.V. stand over on my head.  "Damn it!" I cursed, grabbing at it with my free hand.  I finally got my left hand around it, but it shocked me.  "Stupid static."

            It took about twenty minutes of untangling, rearranging, and repeatedly shocking myself on the metal bed frame before I found the call button.  I punched it a good 15 times before the same crabby nurse came into the room.  She wasn't any happier for it either.

            "You know, I could've died about a hundred times in the time it took you to mosey on down here.  You guys are also using too much fabric softener on these gowns," I complained.  It was true, my hair was kept sticking to the back of my neck and standing up on top.  Besides, why else would I have been shocking myself so much?  She opened her mouth to say something (probably to tell me to go to hell) but she never got the chance to finish.  An older man with slightly graying hair walked in behind her.

            "Zoe Macyntire?  Ah, glad to see you're awake," he chirped brightly.  Then he glanced at the nurse, "I think I can handle this from here Miss Schneider," was his brisk comment to her, and she huffed out of the room.  'Well, that's one problem solved' I thought.  

            "Are you my doctor?" I demanded.

            'Yes.  Actually I'm a pediatric physician, but that's beside the point.  Roger Atkinson's the name."  Man, this guy had had one to many cups of coffee.  He was way to perky for me, but anything was better than nurse bitch.

            "Good.  Then maybe you can help me out.  I have a few questions."  Okay, so maybe I was the one sounding bitchy now, but I think it was all perfectly understandable, considering the circumstances.  

            "Fire away sport!"  He stood at the end of my bed, clipboard ready, looking like I was about to ask him a question from final Jeopardy.

            "Alright: Why am I here?  What happened?  Where's my family?  Have they been informed?  How long have I been out?  And for God's sake how much fabric softener is in this thing?" I questioned, yanking at my gown.  I glanced up at Dr. Atkinson, who was looking rather amused.

            "Would you like me to answer those in order?"


	3. Return To A Not So Normal Life

A/N: Hey, I'm back!  Sorry for the delay, but…stuff happened.  Here's the next chappie.  Some questions get answered, some secrets revealed, and, well you'll have to read and find out.  When you're done with that, please review so that I'll know if I should continue or not.  Catch ya on the flip side;)

"You're sure you're okay?" Cassidy demanded for the fifth, and hopefully last time.  I rolled my eyes and continued on to class.  It was the day after I'd been released from the hospital and, believe me I never thought I'd say this, but I was glad to be back at school.  Hell, anything was better than dealing with nurse bitch all day long.  I don't why they kept me overnight at all.  I felt fine and, in fact, the doctors couldn't find anything wrong with me.  

So you've probably already figured that I managed to shock the shit out of myself that night, right?  Well when I didn't come back into the gym Cassidy came looking for me.  She came even faster when the whole school went dark several seconds later.  According to her, she found me unconscious on the floor of the supply closet.  I was out until the next morning when I had my first encounter with the nurse from hell, but you already know that.  Apparently the fall I took rattled my little brain quite a bit; my concussion was pretty severe.  But short of knocking me out, the zap I took from that fuse box did nothing, except worry my mother out of her mind and piss off the school a little.  Dr. Atkinson and his fellow pediatric whosits said that I was pretty lucky.  I guess that much wattage usually causes some serious damage.  He said I was one lucky little chick.  No, lucky would've been winding up in a coma, so I wouldn't have had to be harassed by the nursing staff any longer, but yeah.  So it was back to school for me.  Back to failing physics and playing with exacto-blades in art.  But I had softball, so life wasn't all that bad…  

Looking back now, I really miss how simple things were.  Anxiety over regionals and my next science exam seem petty compared to what's going on now.  I look back at the girl I used to be and envy her.  I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, crying "you don't know how good you have it!"  But I can't change the past, anymore than I can stop tomorrow from coming, so I just keep going on.  One foot in front of the other, one day at a time.  That day, just Cassidy and I walking to English, was one of the last normal ones I experienced.  After that, my whole world fell down around me in one disaster after another. 

I don't really know how I managed to keep my abilities a secret for so long.  Heck, didn't know I even had abilities 'till I stuck my hand in a fuse box.  It was like the jolt I got that night woke up my body, my powers.  And once they were awake, they tried to wreak havoc everywhere they could.  I supposed I kept 'em concealed for about three months, which is pretty long given the circumstances.  It was three months of hell though.  

            I guess things didn't start out so bad.  At first I had no conscious knowledge of what I was doing, just that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, telling me I had missed something.  Then I started paying attention, noticing how lights flickered around me when I got upset.  I took my next physics exam underneath a fluorescent light that was blinking on and off so rapidly that it could well have delivered a Morse code message to the class across the hall.  Needless to say that class remained a habitual source of stress for me. 

            After a while it got to the point where I was worried for those around me.  I stayed late after practice one day to lift in the weight room.  I guess I lost track of time because only after I got into the empty locker room did I realize how late I was.  I was supposed to have been home an hour ago!  I remember how I rushed into the deserted showers, cursing my chronic tardiness.  Muttering darkly under my breath, I rounded the corner and found that some ditz had left her shower running.  But I realized that only after I'd slipped on the puddles littering the floor and fallen on my ass.  I hit the ground, yelping as my body bounced off the hard ceramic.  Then suddenly the world around me was a shower of sparks and the lights above me erupted in an explosion to rival something out of an action movie.  This time I _felt_ the energy, the charge, leap from my body as I hit he floor.  And I felt my body reacting to the release of so much electricity into the air, pulling at the electrons themselves.  It was as if I was able to feel every single one of the charged particles billowing in the air around me.  I felt them mold around my body and pass through my skin.  I felt their charge _inside_ me.

            I don't know how long I lay there, shuddering and shivering in the dark.  I can honestly say that I'd never been more afraid in my life than I was right then.  Scared by what I had done, could do.  Scared for those around me, my classmates, my family, my friends, my team.  But, and I'm ashamed to admit this, I was mostly scared for myself.  It was impossible to overlook the news headlines and the articles in the paper each morning.  The entire world was up in arms against those they considered freaks, the ones called mutants.  Without warning I had just been classified as a member of the most endangered species on the planet.  And deep down, the though of what would happen to me if my abilities were exposed, froze the blood in the veins.

            Life got way different after that.  I had to struggle terribly each day to keep my emotions in check.  I had no control over what I could do, but what I had figured out was that strange things happened when I was angry, or upset, or nervous…and, apparently, when I was late as well.  So I tried to dampen those emotions as much as possible.  Easier said than done, believe you me.  It got to the point of where I was even afraid to laugh too loudly, as if that would somehow set it off.  I stopped eating lunch at school, instead parking on a dead-end street blocks away to eat in my car.  I avoided people in the hallways, made excuses to be around as few people as possible.  

            Softball, which had always been my outlet, became a living nightmare.  I was nervous and jumpy at practices, afraid I'd get too involved with the game and loose what little control I had.  I wasn't focused, and my pitching was suffering.  My coach thought I was sick, my team thought I was dealing with a bad break-up, and Cassidy thought I was depressed.  But any rumor they came up with was 10 times better than real life, and was a hundred times better than what happened next.


	4. Exposure

The memory of that day…of what happened…what could've happened, will haunt my dreams for a long time to come.  I was dangerous and I should've removed myself from that position before anything happened.  But I was stupid and naive and I admit it.  Part of me still says that there was nothing I could've done, that I couldn't have known.  But I still feel guilty.  I guess that's just my burden to bear.

            You've (hopefully) already picked up my dislike for physics.  I'm telling you, I've never struggled with a class as much as that one.  It was just _killing_ my Jr. year.  So when I walked into that room on that fateful day in early April, it was no surprise to me to feel the usual sinking in the pit of my stomach.  I sighed deeply and started counting the minutes until I was phys free for the weekend.  As usual my teacher's desk (actually a modified lab table) was covered in an odd assortment of objects.

            See, Mr. Bekham was…well, he probably still is…big on learning through seeing.  So he does lots of demos, which are labs the teacher does as a demonstration.  They're great for those people who are good at inferring information and applying in and understanding ideas quickly.  Not so good for those of us who need a little more direction in class, like me.  But anyway, Bekham's desk was always covered with useless junk that he could blow up or drop on springs or launch at stuffed monkey dolls (don't ask…just don't!).  Or in this case, covered with metal objects and a large steel globe atop a pole.  

            I sat down in the corner, staring out the window and desperately wishing to be somewhere else, when class began.  When I learned that the gizmo sitting up front was actually something called a Van de Gaff electrical generator, I'd have given my right arm to be anywhere but here.

            "Mr. Bekham?  Permission to go to the nurse?" I asked in a voice that was more a croak.  But he did nothing other than regard my raised hand in distain and continue on with the lecture.  Guess I used that excuse one too many times for my own good.  So I sat huddled about my desk in the back of the room fidgeting nervously.  I'd already seen what could happen when I tapped into the locker room's fluorescent lights.  What would happen if I 'grabbed' onto a full-blown generator?  I knew that I didn't want to find out.

            "Okay.  It's all going to be okay," I muttered to myself, trying to keep my cool.  "I just won't volunteer for anything, and I'll be fine.  Just… just 35 minutes to go," I said, watching as Bekham asked Gina to touch the globe, then as he asked the class why her long black hair stood up on end when she did.  But even as I muttered distractedly, I felt the slightest tingle running down the back of my neck, coursing through my spine.  My body was reacting to all the raw electricity in the air, and that was something I didn't need.  

            I almost made it out of class that day, and that's what kills me.  It almost didn't happen.  But just when I thought I was home-free, just five minutes left in the period, Bekham asked the whole class to stand up.  Nervously, I complied before I could think of an excuse not to.  It wasn't until he asked us to link hands that I realized what was going to happen.  Standing on a wooden board in front of class, Bekham grabbed the hand of the nearest kid, Chris, and then explained that by standing on the board, the charge would be strong enough to travel from kid to kid in our human chain.  I tried to pry my hand from Jake's, the kid next to me, but he held firm.  And the second Bekham touched the generator, the world exploded around me.  I screamed!   

            My senses were alive with power, driven like an out of control wild fire.  Live wire…High voltage!  The power surging through me was like a bullet to the brain.  I was vaguely aware that I was no longer in contact with my partners, but I didn't hear the screams.  My ears were ringing like the bells on Notre Dame, and I could feel the electrons bursting within me.  Then, in a massive surge, I felt them leave my body, rushing from every pore.  And in that one instant, that split second of clarity, I saw the impending danger around me.  But trying to control the massive surge of electricity was like trying to weather a hurricane with an umbrella.  

            There were loud explosions as the lights above me exploded one by one, from the biggest power surge they'd ever experienced.  The room was suddenly full of rocketing bolts of electricity, exploding from me in every direction, swirling around me in a flashing vortex  Desperately, I tried to grab onto the bolts, tried to pull them back, but I had no control.  The screams frightened yells around me turned to shrieks of pain and terror.  Sparks erupted from the power outlets, fueling my fire.  My short, blonde hair was standing on end, as if blown up by some intangible breeze, completely electrified.  People were running everywhere, and even worse, some weren't moving at all.  I felt as the bolts tore through tables, through the ceiling and the floor, rushing their charge thought the metal water pipes and lab table gas manes.  I felt as they tore though people as well.  But I was trapped within my body, unable to anything to stop the madness of which I was the source.  

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the power was gone, used up.  I was drained, barely able to move from where I lay on the cold tile floor.  Dimly, I pulled myself back from the brink of madness, back into control of my body.  I almost wish I hadn't, because the scene of destruction, terror, despair around me was enough to make me want to sleep forever…and never face what I had done.  But that was not my choice to make.

There was movement within the room.  Footsteps, slow at first, but increasing in number and volume with each passing second.  The growing buzz of ambulance sirens.  Crying.

"Up!  Get up, now!"  a gruff voice ordered into my ear.  I tried to answer, to speak, to question, but my mouth refused to move.  I felt rough hands grabbing my shoulders, dragging my to my feet.  I leaned heavily into the person to keep my balance, eyes refusing to focus on the damage I had caused.  It wasn't until I felt my hands being clasped behind me did I realize that the cops were here.  They cuffed me, dragged me through the hallways, crowed full of curious students, and outside.  It wasn't until they had me safely out of view of the students and into the back of a patrol car that they shoved a needle into my neck.  The sedative, usually used to keep especially violent offenders at bay, knocked me out before I could even think of protesting.


	5. What Have I Done?

The uncomfortable silence filled the room for so long that it seemed to last forever.  I was being held at the police station, in one of those gray little interrogation rooms.  I was still hand-cuffed, as I'd been for the past six hours.  My parents had been brought in to see me.  And they couldn't hide the fear in their eyes, despite their best attempts.  

The police chief was there too.  He sat opposite from me and my parents, delivering the news that no one wanted to hear.

"There are 16 injured, four in critical condition…two already dead."  My mother gasped and clung to my dad, tears running down her cheeks.  Big, fat tears, like when a baby cries.  My dad held her tightly, trying to be her rock, the center of our family.  He failed.  And I sat alone.  I was in a room full of people, but locked behind an invisible wall of difference.  My mouth was terribly dry, but I didn't ask for water.  The people I'd killed would never drink again.

But there was another reason the chief was here, and I knew it.  I waited for him to spit out the real news.  I waited a long time.  Then finally…

"The school and the state wants to charge her with the deaths, injuries, and the damages."  He ran his hand over a rapidly balding head in what must have been a nervous habit.  "Fact of the matter is, we've never charged a muta-um, someone of her abilities within our jurisdiction before.  We can't prove, nor can we hold her on those charges.  Frankly speaking, she's free to go."  I didn't breathe a sigh of relief, I didn't feel the weight lift off my shoulders.  It didn't matter if I was physically free.  Mentally, I would be forever bound in a prison of my own guilt.  At that moment, I'd have given my right arm to bring back those kids…to fix it all.     

My father nodded boldly at such news, my mother sighed, and the chief came towards me to remove the cuffs.  They'd chewed raw grooves into my wrists, which had bled a little, but who was I to complain about something as minor as that.  A little blood was nothing next to how much I'd spilt earlier.  The chief retreated quickly once I was free, backing up quicker than his usual pace, or so I assumed.  As he made to leave the room he warned my parents.  

"This doesn't mean she's off the hook.  There will defiantly be private suits filed…and the folks around here aren't know for being open minded about people different than the norm.  I'd watch my back if I were you"  He turned and left, the door swinging open as if to signify my freedom.

My parents rose, first my father, then my mother.  Again, an overwhelming silence as they came to stand by my side.  My mom looked down at me, and what I saw in her eyes broke my heart.  She had to force herself to touch me, and when she did, I saw her flinch.  She wanted to not feel this way, to be open and normal around her daughter.  But her daughter was no longer normal, so how could she expect things to be the way they used to be? 

The rest of the evening was a blur to me, recorded only in my memory as a series of flashes, bits of conversations and images jumbled together.

"…we spoke to someone who can help…there's a facility that specializes in mut…"  My mother's voice during the car ride home.

Staring at the light drizzle on the back window, noting how the droplets ran together to make wavy patterns…

"…recommended some treatment options…"  My father this time.  

            Noticing how my mother had forgotten to take the big shamrock off the door after St. Patrick's Day, but had remembered to put out Easter eggs for that upcoming holiday…

            "…it's all going to be alright sweetie, I promise…"  Hearing my mother say those words, but seeing such rejection in her eyes…

            Then, finally, the bliss of a dreamless sleep overtook me.  Solstice had never been more reassuring.

            The sunlight streaking through my window seemed joyfully cruel the next morning.  I usually never saw it when I woke, rising early to get to school and to make it to practice on the weekends.  I was an early riser anyway.  But the clock on my bed-stand read 10:46, and it didn't lie.  I guessed that going to practice today was out of the question.

            I remember pausing in the threshold of my doorway, listening through the heating vent to the voices in the kitchen below, as I had done so many times before.  

"No Tim, can the kids just stay with you for a few days?"  When I heard no response, I figured my mother was on the phone.  I hadn't realized 'till then that my younger brothers and sister were absent.  The house was strangely quiet though.

"No, no, I just want to make sure it's safe before they come home."  Pause.  "Yes I know she's my daughter, and that's why I'm looking into the best possible options for her…yes, yes, I know.  Tell them I love them."  Pause.  "Okay, bye."  There was a dull click as she replaced the receiver.  Tim, my uncle.  He took the kids when my parents were called to come and get me.  I'd thought that the house sounded too quiet…

I found myself surprisingly callous to her remarks.  She was right, my siblings weren't safe around me.  And how could she risk sacrificing three for the dignity and pride of the one?  As for finding me an 'option'…well, I'd decided to cross that bridge when it came.     

When I entered the kitchen that morning, it all started to seem like a cruel dream from the night before.  Everything looked so…so normal.  My mother, sitting in a chair with her robe on and a cup of coffee.  Cereal fixings laid out on the counter. The typical morning ambiance in a typical American household.  Then why did it all feel so strange?  Like I was seeing it all for the first time.

She jumped slightly when I entered the room, my mom did.  But she regained her composure quickly and beckoned me to sit down at the table. 

"Honey, I want to discuss something with you…" her voice trailed off as I turned and made my way to the front door.  I didn't want to discuss places where she could shove me off to, where guys in white lab coats could poke and prod and shake me.  What I wanted was the paper.  I wondered if the school was mentioned.  Maybe it could help answer the questions I didn't want to ask my 'rents.  What I found on the front porch wasn't the paper though.  It was worse.

"MOM!" I cried, speaking for the first time since school the day before.  There, on the front stoop, was Truffles, our cat.  She was lying on her side, with a giant stake stabbed through her like a sheish-kebabb.  And on the stake, I noted as an afterthought, was a symbol I'd seen before.  It was a circle with a slash through it.  Hell, I'd even used that symbol before.  In math almost every day.  It meant unequal, not equal to something.  I got the message.


	6. 646

A/N: From now on, certain story elements will be told in the third person to discuss plot elements and events when Zoe is not present.  Her's will be the only part of the story told in the first person, and anything in the third person will have a little 3p in the corner, kay?

3P

The room was a-buzz with soft chatter as voices pondered the reasons behind this emergency meeting.  The eerie illumination made it impossible to discern whether the movement around the long table was caused by shadows, or actual human beings.  But the answer to that question came quickly enough, for shadows do not stand in attention.  But the sound of the opening door prompted that reaction from the mass of people within.  Brisk footsteps echoed dully as this new entry proceeded across the floor.  

SLAM!

            The able shook and hearts jumped into throats as the noise reverberated about the close confines.  Silently, a single light bulb penetrated the darkness and illuminated the masked face of the newest arrival, now seated at the head of the table.  It also exposed the newspaper that he's thrown down in front of him.  It bore tomorrow's date and the headline read:  
  


            DISASTER AT LOCAL HS; POSSIBLE MUTANT ATTACK

            "Tomorrow," a cold voice penetrated the gloom, "this paper will be on the doorsteps and front porches of everyone in this entire city!  Number 646, this is your sector.  What the hell happened?!?"

            From the far end of the oval table, a deep, yet shaky voice spoke up.  

            "Sir, we didn't have the resources to keep such a public incident from being published.  Not for lack of trying, but-,"

            "I don't want excuses 646, I want the problem taken care of!  Either you see that this gets settled, or I'll see that some of your…_incidents_, if you will, get published.  Have I made myself clear?" the man at the head of the table demanded in his icy voice.

            "Yes sir.  I'll see to it tonight that the freak gets the message.  She won't last long, don't worry," 646 assured, breathlessly.

            "I'm not worried, 646, but you should be…"   

A/N: Dun, Dun, Dun!  "What's going to happen next?  Who's 646?  And why did he make Zo's cat into a cat shish-kebab?  To find out, tune in tomorrow for out next episode of…The Struggle!"  Sorry ppl, too much sugar and spring break don't mix well.  But it also means that I've had a lot of time to write. Short chappie this time, but an important one.  Please review so I know if I'm taking the plot in a good direction, and I should post another normal sized chappie tomorrow or the next day.  Ciao!


	7. Friend Lost, Desision Made

That night, I went for a jog.  I didn't tell my parents, I just went.  And I wasn't at all surprised when my feet led me to Cassidy's house.  I needed her right now, needed her to be the sister I'd always been to her.  I couldn't speak to my parents, I hadn't all day, but maybe I could talk to her.  Maybe she would understand.

I didn't go to the front door, though.  I did something I hadn't done since we were seven.  I went 'round the back, hoping the chain-link fence.  Her big lab, Russ, knew me too well to bark.  Instead he rushed over to be scratched, jumping eagerly.  I calmed him with a few quick pats and a rub behind the ears before jumping up and grabbing onto the low hanging branch of the tall Birch tree.  I proceeded to do my best monkey impression by swinging my legs from branch to branch, hauling my way up the rough trunk.  Finally, I was on a main branch that extended out just under Cassidy's window.  When we were younger, we'd used it to pretend we were Tarzan and Jane in the jungle.  When we got older, she used it to sneak out the nights that our group planned…events.  Now I was going to use it to bridge the gap growing between me and everyone I cared about.           

I tapped lightly on the pane at first, rapping on it harder when I got no initial response.  I was growing increasingly worried that I was going to pitch forward and end up falling flat on my ass on the pavement 15 feet below any second, so I ended up banging frantacially on the frame with all my might.  Finally the curtains parted and Cassidy opened the window, looking both surprised and a little disgruntled at my strange arrival.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, making no movement to let me in through the window.

"I needed to talk to you," I told her, a little surprised by her reaction.  I thought that of all the people who knew me, she would be accepting.  Instead she was just acting like a bitch.  

"So call."

"Would you have even picked up the phone?" I demanded, squashing down the anger inside me.  The last thing I needed now was a repeat of yesterday.  

Glancing past her, into her room, I spied a copy of today's paper open on her desk.  The front page contained a giant picture of the damaged school and a large story of yesterday's events, including my name.  I really wished they hadn't published that.  If so, my cat might have been alive today…

Cassidy refused to meet my eyes, and I was surprised to find sadness echoed in her expression.  But it was fleeting, and soon her eyes hard and cold once again.

"I, I don't know.  Listen, you hurt…so many people.  How…?"  She was choking on her words.  I decided to throw her a lifesaver.

"Cass, look at me," I ordered her.  "You know me…better than anyone, probably.  I would never hurt anyone, and you know that.  What kind of person do you think I am?"  This conversation was not going the way I had hoped, but…oh I don't know what I was hoping for at this point.  Maybe that'd she'd look up and I'd see acceptance and friendship in her eyes once again.  Instead I saw only anger.

"Zo…I don't know what kind of person you are.  I don't even know who you are anymore.  You, you _killed_ those kids.  You hurt so many people.  That's not the you I know."

"I just…just lost control.  Can't you understand that?" I pleaded.  "I'm not the bad guy here!  It was an accident!"

"No!  How do you lose control of your body?  That's not an excuse!" she screamed, suddenly enraged.  She didn't understand!  

"Yes it is.  You don't know what it's like, waking up one day and realizing that you're a danger to everyone you see.  Having this new ability that you can't control-,"

"Wait, you mean you knew you could do this before yesterday?" she asked.  I could only nod.  "You shouldn't even have been in school!  You should have told me…told someone!"  

"Why?  Why should I have told you anything?  Because you could help me?  You won't even look at me now.  And to think that I thought you, of all people-,"

"Well, you thought wrong!"  Her words stung like a swarm of angry bees.  "I think you should leave, now."

"Fine!  Thanks for all your support!" I screamed back, no longer caring who heard or knew I was here.  I turned and began to scramble down the tree to the sound of Cassidy crying softly.  Then I was stuck by a sudden, gut wrenching thought.  "Justin?" I asked softly, just below her windowsill.  At first I thought that she didn't hear me, but then she spoke.

"They," she sobbed, gasping for breath, "they told me he's in a coma.  They're not sure he'll wake up."  My heart sank.  Cassidy and Justin were…had been quickly approaching their sixth month anniversary.  She was crazy about him.  And now he was gone…because of me.  So much pain, all because of me!

I jumped.  I didn't care that I was ten feet from the ground or not.  I was almost hoping that I broke my leg or ankle or backbone.  No such luck, though.  My balance got the better of me, and I landed, fell into a crouch, and pitched forward into the grass.  I bolted!  I was suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the yard, like if I stayed there one second longer I'd burst.  I hauled my pretty little ass out of there and never looked back.

So I never saw Cassidy look after me as I ran.  And I never heard her whisper, 

"I'm so sorry Zo," as the tears ran down her nose.

I never saw her father walk in and put his big, military-built arms around his daughter.  Never heard him reassure her,

"You did the right thing, sweetie.  It's better this way."  Never got to hear her demand,

"Than why do I feel like shit?"  And never saw the cold malice burning in her father's eyes as they traced my path across the lawn.

A/N: Chapter 7, here it is.  Hope you enjoyed it, now, please offer feedback J  But seriously, for those crabby (but to be unnamed people) this story will involve the x-men characters and will have a real plotline, but I believe in character development and this is set to be a long story (looking longer with each chapter)  So if you're bored, sorry your SOL.  If not, then please stick around, because nothing good can come of what just happened…and nothing good will.


	8. Ultimatum

A/N:  Hi all.  A few things.  First, sadly spring break has come to an end, which means back to school and softball, so expect a little more time between updates (1-2 a week probably).  And second, I want to take this time to thank everyone who has reviewed and read.  Faith, Tigereyes, Noelle, and everyone else, thanks so much.  It's great to know that people actually take the time to read all the stuff you've taken time to write.  Now…

"Commander, I am pleased to report that the situation has been neutralized.  The offending mutant should be gone by tomorrow morning," 646 said as in a happily complacent voice.

            "That's good news 646.  Unfortunately, it's too little too late.  The council has heard of our little problem," a cynically cruel voice said through the darkness.  "Our department is facing an inquiry and possible suspension.  Our best chance at retaining our current status is to eliminate the problem."

"But the girl is gone," 646 exclaimed, sounding as if on the brink of hysterics.

            "The girl is no longer the problem, 646, you are."  An onslaught of hushed and frantic whispers ensued, covering up the noise of 646 leaping to his feet, sending the chair skittering across the floor.  "Silence!," bellowed the voice from the table's head.  "As a result of your failure to complete your duty in a discrete and appropriate fashion 646, I am demoting you to general status.  As of today, 581 will take over your duties as field commander."

            "No!  You can't do this to me!  After everything I've done," 646 looked from side to side, hoping to see a glimmer of sympathy beneath the black masks of someone, "everything I've sacrificed!  I've given my life to this department, my sweat, my blood!  And you're going to take that away because of one, lousy teenager?!?"  He banged his beefy fists down onto the table, making it jump along with the people seated at it.  

            "646, it is either you, or the entire department.  Greater good wins hands down.  Just be grateful that the council hasn't come for you already.  After a mistake as public as this, they're going to be out for blood," the Commander spoke to those around him more than to 646.  "Now please, 646, remove yourself or I will be forced to have you removed."  He gestured towards to two guards by the doorway who rose to escort the dazed 646 out of the room.  "Now, as for the rest of you, we have just over a month before this little inspection and I want everything to be in good order…" the Commander continued on, but 646 ignored him.  He was thinking back to something else that had been said, and he was fighting the anger that boiled within him.

            "Council wants blood, do they?" he muttered to himself, as he shoved his way through the guards to get to the doors.  "I'll give 'em blood then!  They'll wish they'd never gotten rid of me!"  And already he was forming a plan…

A/N: I know, you're not supposed to understand it yet, but don't worry, you will.  I promise…HAHAHAH!


	9. Writing Towards An Uncertain Future

A/N: Hey there everyone!  I'm back with a new chapter, yay!  I know this one is kinda long and wordy, but it's one of those necessary chapters that help the plot advance.  So bear with me, there's a lot more action and a few pretty good twists coming up…

I think every kid dreams about leaving home when they're older.  You know, about how cool it would be to have your own place and make your own rules, do what you want when you want.  Let me tell you something: there is a big difference between dreaming of something and doing it.  Doing it is a hell of a lot scarier.  Doing it when you're a member of a hated and feared minority doesn't help very much either.  

My final shot had been Cassidy.  But that conversation had gone less than stellar.  So that was it, my last thread of hope was gone.  It had shriveled and burned and crumbled away 'till nothing was left.  My dad wanted to put me in a 'treatment facility', my mom was afraid for the lives of my younger siblings, and my best friend would forever hate my for taking her boyfriend away.  It still all felt like so extremely long dream, like I was acting out some twisted Law & Order or NYPD Blue episode.  The question tumbled about in my mind for hours: How could me, Zoe, have killed someone?  Put Justin and countless others into a coma?  It wasn't possible, it just wasn't.

I'd cry for them later, the ones who suffered because of me, but right then I was assuaged with adrenaline.  Later there would be emotion, but right now there was only survival, instinct.  I stumbled into the yard, breathing hard from my run.  I went in through the garage, making sure to leave the one of the 2 doors open.  I prayed that my dad would not check to see if the doors were shut before he locked the house up that night.  He didn't.  

I might be rash and stubborn sometimes, but I was far from stupid.  I had a plan.  I waited until my parents fell asleep, 'bout 11:30.  I grabbed my dad's big, army-style duffle and proceeded to pack it full of everything I thought I might need.  Jeans, shits, hard-wearing stuff.  I was more worried about being cold than hot, so I went heavy on layering gear.  Socks, underwear, contact solution.  I had about a three month supply of lenses left, but after that, I was probably SOL, so I threw in my old glasses for good measure.  Boots, my good old Birkenstocks.  They'd hold up for a long time, and they were practical.  Then there were the few things I couldn't help but bring.

            I managed to shove in a some sentimental bits.  A few soft-covered photo albums, a memory book from my softball team last year.  Christmas picture of me and the family, stuff like that.  And, wrenching them from their hiding place beneath my mattress, 3 beat up spiral notebooks that no one but me had ever seen, nor would ever see.  No, they weren't journals or diaries, I never got the point of keeping a diary.  These were, in some ways, more personal.  Then that was it, there was nothing more to bring.

            I paused in the doorway and realized with a sinking feeling that this might be the last time I ever saw this room .  I wanted to be bold, brave, and brash at that moment, but in all reality, I just felt terribly depressed.  But whatever lay in my future, at least it wasn't a life in a 'treatment facility'.

            I'd composed a note to my folks.  I told them how much I loved them, despite how they may feel about me.  I gave my best to my sisters and brother, who I would never get to say goodbye to.  Then I told them that I was heading west, towards California, to look for work and a new life.  I said that I was sorry for all that I'd done, and that maybe one day I'd see them again and everything would be alright.  It was a happy thought, but an unrealistic one at that.  Then I left, looking for peace and a fresh start.

            My house had a burglar alarm designed to go off if any doors were opened while it was engaged.  Well, the solution to that problem seemed relatively simple: just turn off the alarm and walk out.  Here's the catch though, the alarm rings 3 times when it has been properly shut off, and the ringing was guaranteed to wake my parents.  So I was forced to find a way around that obstacle.  What I did was remove the screen from my window and climb outside.  See, I lived in a split level house and, although my room was on the second floor, the roof of the living room extended out from under my window.  So after facing the 10 foot drop from the roof to the ground below (which was nothing when compared to the stunt I'd pulled in Cassidy's tree) I was home free…well, so to speak.  With the garage door already open, I avoided another potential parent rousing noise.  As quietly as I could I popped the trunk of my car, shoved my duffel into the back next to my bat bag, and drove off into the night.

            My car…if you could call it a car was a typical high school vehicle, meaning it was a piece of shit.  It was an eighty-nine, two door blue Chevy Beretta.  It leaked power steering fluid like a sieve, had a giant dent in the passenger door from where the previous owner hit a gas pump, and had a muffler so loud that I'd been told you could hear it from a mile away.  The roar of that blasted muffler may or may not have woken my parents as I made my escape that night, but it didn't matter anyway.  By the time they'd figured out what happened, I'd be long gone.  I had a destination in mind as I fled, and it wasn't California. 

     My dad's father had once owned 50 acres of premium farmland just over the state lines in Wisconsin.  I say once owned because he passed away when I was six.  My parents told me it was lung cancer and, seeing as how he smoked since he was nineteen, it seemed perfectly plausible to them.  But I knew it wasn't true.  He really died of a broken heart, missing the only woman he'd ever loved: My grandmother, who'd died just a short month earlier from natural causes.  With them both gone, the property reverted back to my father and the rest of that massive Macyntire clan (my dad had seven other siblings).  Most of my aunts and uncles lived in different parts of the country.  Only my dad and my youngest uncle Nick, who lived in Indianapolis, ever visited the house anymore.  The great white farmhouse, not to mention the barn and garage building, had become the perfect summer escape for our two families, but aside from that, the house was usually desolate and deserted.  The barn was in pretty poor shape and the massive fields went unplowed.  Uncle Nick and my cousin Jeffrey, who was 13 at the time, went out there to fish at the nearby lake every summer, but other than that, no one had been out there recently.  It seemed like the perfect place for me to crash for a while…least until I got my head on straight.  

            It was by far, the longest drive I'd ever made.  I stuck to the back roads, driving blind with my lights off, and getting lost often.  My father could make the drive in just over an hour.  It took me all night.  If you haven't already figured it out, I lived in a pretty big freakin' suburb south of Chicago.  For a high school jr. who's only been driving for a year, getting to that house in one piece was a pretty big feat.  Even so, as I rolled onto the gravel driveway at 4 in the morning, half asleep, it didn't even matter.

            The garage was actually more like a small barn, designed to hold farm equipment as well as vehicles.  But for the past several years all it had held had been old college furniture, boxes of baby clothes, and other pieces of junk that various family members chose to store here.  Needless to say, such objects limited my ability to get my car inside, and I was too nervous to leave it out in the open, less a neighbor realize that I was here and call my parents.  So even though I was dead on my feet, I hauled and shoved and slammed odds and ends out of my way 'till just before dawn.  It was tight, but I squeezed that glorious wreak of a car inside.

            Then I went into the barn.  It was dark and musty within, and felt empty with the absence of the livestock it should have held (my Poppy raised dairy cows and grew field corn).  I knew my father had hidden a spare key out there, and either I would have to find it, or break a window to get inside.  But thankfully it didn't come to that.  My dad was a fairly predictable person if you knew him well…and I did.  He'd hidden the key in a jar on nails on an old workbench in the back room.  The same place he'd hidden our own home's spare key in our shed.  

            After much aggravation and struggling, that rusty junk of a lock gave way, and I pushed in through the basement door and climbed the stairs into the house.  Utterly exhausted, and shaking with fear and fatigue, I fell into a fitful sleep just as the sun rose on the horizon.

Let me tell you something, everyone gets lonely sometimes, but none of you have ever experienced loneliness like this before.  I was utterly and completely by myself.  Didn't see anyone, didn't speak to anyone, wasn't around anyone.  And I was terribly depressed.  I'd been living at the farmhouse for just about three weeks.  I know it doesn't seem like that long a time, but also remember I'm a teenager.  Human interaction…hell, human contact is a vital part of my life.  For as long as I can remember I've gotten up in the morning and gone to a school bursting with people, or woken up to a home bursting with people.  Now, there was no one.  No sounds of people, no smells of people, no _presence _of people.  It was just me, myself, and I.

            Back home I'd often wished for some peace and quite, some time alone with my thoughts.  But at the farm I'd have given my right arm for the distraction my family provided.  Instead I got an old, rabbit-eared TV with poor reception, and my dad's stereo from college.  The synthetic voices both offered provided little comfort.

            For three weeks I hardly left the house, venturing outside only at night and in the back of the house where I couldn't be spotted from the road.  I never left the property at all.  I didn't really need to since the house had a fine supply of non-perishables: mass quantities of Mac n' Cheese and Campbell's soup.  Thank God for my aunt and her Sam's food club card…  But truth be told, I was afraid to leave.

            So what did I do to fill the long and empty hours of the days?  Very little.  I read the few books I'd had in my bag or in my car, and my uncle had some old Tom Clancy stuff that he'd left at the house to read on a rainy day.  I watched some TV, tried my best to cook with what little ingredients I had, and played around in the workshop in the basement.  But what I did most of the time was write.  Remember those notebooks that'd I'd taken with me?  How I said they weren't dairies?  Well, they weren't and they still aren't today.  They were filled with stuff I'd written though.  Poems, a few attempts at haiku, but mostly stories or parts of them.  There were some outlines of plots that I'd thought up, but hadn't found the time to write about.  There were character charts and descriptions.  There were snippets of dialogues between characters, but no stories to go with them.  There were just pieces of plots, missing characters to fill them.  All together, the books were a jumbled mess of partially completed stories and ideas, but to me they were my future.  

            You've probably already figured out that I'm not exactly a stellar student.  I wasn't looking at a future involving Ivy Leagues colleges, believe you me.  In fact, the only thing I had going for me was my pitching.  At least, most people thought that it was all I had going for me.  They figured I'd get a scholarship, but no one ever thought much past that.  But, then again, no one knew that I'd been writing since the eight grade.  I knew needed a focus, something to aim for in life.  When I found out that I not only liked writing, but wasn't half bad at it either, becoming a writer became my goal.  And now, with the uncertain future I was facing, it might become my only means of survival.

            I remember how that thought sent shivers down my spine.  It was still too painful to think beyond the next day, the future was just too uncertain.  During the day I could keep myself busy, keep my mind off such things.   But at night when I slept, there was nothing I could do to escape the dreams.  They were awful, and I would be thrown awake, shaking and crying and, most nights, lying on the floor.  I started sleeping in short bursts, often awake before dawn, and sleeping as the sun went down.  I would walk around the house at night, afraid to sleep and afraid of being awake.  Many times I would emerge from my nightmares to find the TV, which I usually left on so the house wouldn't be so quiet, blinking on and off with the power surges I was creating.  Obviously my isolation was not helping me with my control as I'd hoped it would.  And so I'd walk, up and down the halls, pacing in the dark, just wishing it would all go away.  But fate has a sense of irony, and she wasn't quiet done toying with me yet, because as I walked one night, right around 2 am, I heard a noise outside.  Curious and alarmed, I peeked out the upstairs window of my bedroom.  What I saw made me instantly thankful that I was having trouble sleeping….         


	10. Prospect Of Glory

"…Dismissed."  The mass crowd rose and began to surge outside from the meeting, but one figure remained seated.  This was a general assembly which all of the members attended.  There were certainly more present than the mere dozen that had attended the high order meetings, meetings from which 646 had been shamelessly removed from.  He tried not to let that thought plague him too much.  It would only be a matter of time until he was back on top again.  Besides, the senior members didn't approve of failure, including their own in choosing 646 in the first place.  They'd kept his little demotion quiet.  And quiet it would stay.  

            When the majority of the assembled crowd had departed, 646 rose and advanced upon a group of men in one corner, talking quietly and looking as if they didn't want to be disturbed.  These were his men.

            The red bands that lined their black masks signaled them as junior members, and their young physiques gave further testimony to their newness.  They were still very green, eager to advance through the ranks and become full members.  They were easily swayed by the prospects of glory that were associated with full membership, and they would do anything to attain such glory.  And 'anything' was exactly what 646 had in mind.  

"Gentlemen." A gruff voice drew their attention, and they all turned in unison.  Each junior member was as confused as confused as the next.  They had received messages, each one of them, asking that they remain after the meeting.  The notes gave no further details, just those simple instructions.  Intrigued, each young man had stayed.  They wanted answers, they wanted details, and now they were about to get them.  "My rank is 646, and I have a proposition for each one of you," said the stranger wearing purple bands, signaling advanced ranking.  646 had refused to remove them, demotion or not.

646 looked as if he was going to say more, but he was interrupted as a loud 'BANG' erupted inside the deserted meeting area.  Across the room, at the back entrance, a door flew open, slamming against the wall as someone entered.  Breathless, another advanced member approached the group.  646 appeared to have been expecting him.

            "I've got it, everything you asked for," the newcomer panted to 646, handing him a manila envelope full to bursting.  646 peered inside quickly, and seemed satisfied with the results.

            "Good work, 482.  Thank you," he murmured.  But 482 was still jumpy, and wasn't quite ready to leave yet.

            "Remember out agreement, 646.  If something goes wrong, none of this gets-," but he was cut short as 646 waved him off impatiently.

            "-None of this gets traced back to you!  Now get out, our transaction is finished!"  482 looked like he really didn't want to leave, but he didn't want to be on the opposite end of 646's fist either.  He decided the safest option was to make himself scarce and he quickly slipped through the door and back outside.

            When he was gone, 646 beckoned the men to a table, where he spread out the contents of the envelope.  There were pictures, bank statements, official documents, and a collection of random notes.  Riffling through the heap, he pulled a newspaper clipping from the pile and displayed it for the men to see.

            "This is our objective.  You men all came here tonight hoping to make it big, right?  Well find her, and make it big you will!"  The clip fell from his hands and drifted to the floor and 646 began to explain his plan.  It landed upright, revealing the by-line beneath the picture:

_Paramount High School pitcher hurls team to regional championship._


	11. No Time Left

A/N:  Hey everyone!  Thought you'd seen the last of me?  Not a chance.  Actually, what happened was a massive amount of reschueled games due to rain.  So I've barely had enough time to eat and sleep, let alone right.  But I decided to bear down and finish up and edit the stuff I've already written, so here's a special treat: 4-count 'em-4 NEW CHAPTERS!  Including one really special one that I hope you like.  Enjoy, live, love, and read fanfiction.  (PS-Review as well.  I ego needs all the help it can get J)

                                                Soundtrack Of My Life-Song #1:

_Comin' down the world turned over_

_And angels fall without you there_

_And I go on as you get colder_

_Or are you someone's prayer_

~Goo Goo Dolls

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

…There was a big, black SUV of some kind parked in the drive.  The sight struck me like a sledgehammer.  Someone knew I was here!  That's when I noticed the shadows.  The outlines of two figures creeping around the barn, rapidly approaching the house, several more behind them.  I was out of time, and I knew it.

            There was no time to wonder who or how or why, only time to run.  No time for questions, just responses.  And respond I did.  I scrambled about the room, trying to hide the evidence that I'd been here.  I hurriedly threw all my belongings into my duffel, then sprinted for the door to make my way downstairs.  Then I heard something that shocked the living hell out of me.  A shout of triumph from outside, quickly silenced, but clearly evident in the peace of the night.  I spared another glance out the window.  One of the figures was avidly peering through the window into the garage.  My Car!  They'd found my car.  I heard hurried footsteps making their way onto the porch, the sound of someone jiggling the lock.  

            'Well, so much for that exit,' I thought.  The sound of glass breaking in the front door signaled how little time I had left.  I needed an exit, NOW!  So I did the only thing think of: I climbed out the window and onto the roof, just like I'd done at home.  Only there were a few big differences this time around.  One, it was raining and the roof was slick as ice because of it.  Two, I was on the third-freakin'-story of the big farm house.  But too late now.  With my duffle pressed tightly against my back, I crawled on hands and knees to the edge of the roof.  It was another 10 feet to the next level, and with the rain-slicked shingles it would have been quicker to break my own neck and get it over with.  But without giving that thought time to set in, I grabbed onto the gutter, swung my legs over the side, and let go.  And not a moment too soon, as I heard my pursuers burst into the room I'd, only five minutes ago, been sleeping in.

            I hit the next story, and right on cue my feet slid out from under me on the wet surface.  I fell flat on my stomach, belly-flop style, and felt as the air was forced from my lungs.  Thankfully, between my fingers, toes, and the fabric of my shirt, I managed to keep from sliding off to my death.  But unfortunately the noise of my fall attracted the attention of the intruders. I heard a shout and the sounds of feet pounding down the stairs through the wall behind me.  I flipped quickly to my butt and scrambled to the edge, to the rain gutter, and through another miracle from above, I landed alive once again on the level below.  But my luck ran out just then.  I was moving too fast, and I couldn't get a grip.  I felt as the shingles slid out from under me and I was thrown into space 20 feet above the ground.  Blindly, my hands shot out from my sides.  I felt my fingers connect with something, and I held on for dear life.  I cracked one eye open, then quickly squeezed it shut again in fear.

            I was hanging onto a rusty rain gutter by my left hand, over a 20 drop to the stone walkway below.  I felt my fingers beginning to slip on the wet surface and heard the voices inside increase in volume, so I did the only thing I could think of: I began swinging.  The gutter began to creak and sway with me, but I kept at it.  I would only have one shot, so I timed it and…released….

            "Owww!" I yelped.  But I was glad that I could yelp anything.  It meant I wasn't dead.  I'd flung myself, spread-eagle style, into the evergreen bushes lining the porch.  It hurt like hell, and there were more than a few branches in places I'd have preferred not to have them, but I was alive.  I scrambled and floundered my way out, hauling my bag with me.  I hit the garage door hard, fingering with the slippery lock while trying to haul the door open at the same time.  "Hurry, hurry," I muttered to myself as I tried to see to spin the correct numbers.  The lock clicked open in victory just as the front door exploded outward behind me.  I yanked back the door.  Footsteps, shouts behind me and closing in fast.  Got to the car door.  Cocking guns close by.  Prepared to throw myself in when…

            "Freeze!  Don't move, 'cause I won't tell ya again," a voice ordered.  My hands went up automatically.  There was a crunching noise as the man walked closer over the loose gravel floor.  'This is it,' I told myself, 'this is how it's gonna end.'

            "Listen here missie.  No funny stuff, just keep your hands up there and turn around.  Nice and slow, that's it." I complied, though I'll never be entirely sure why.  My eyes focused on the figure closest to me, though he was hard to pick out from the dark background.  He was big, far bigger than me, and covered from head to toe in black fatigues.  The strangest part of his get-up though, was what he wore on his face.  It was a black mask that covered his face from the nose on up, even bending back a little to hide his hair color.  The were openings for the eyes and they were ringed in a bright red, the only thing really visible in the darkness around us.  And in the middle, right over the forehead, was a symbol.  The same symbol carved into the stake that killed my cat.  Un-equal.  A zero with a slash.  

            He frightened the living shit out of me, though by the way he spoke I got the impression that he wasn't that old.  But he handled his gun with experience and competence, so maybe I was wrong.  Either way I'd never find out, because I saw my chance and for once I didn't hesitate to take it.

            He approached me alone, and I wondered where his other men had gone.  But that question ceased to matter as, he stretched out one hand to me, preparing to grab my raised arms.  And as he did, the weapon in his left fist drooped for just a second, and I lunged.  Not for the gun, not for his hand, but for his groin.  I surged forward, closing the gap between us in a heartbeat, before throwing out my knee and nailing him the way I'd been shown in a self defense course I'd once taken.  Surprisingly, it worked

            "Hey, what the-Argggggggg!"  He pitched forward, doubling over in pain while I shot into the open door.  His men were obviously well trained, because they quickly surrounded my vehicle, each one armed to the teeth.  But I got the feeling they really didn't want to shoot me.  Didn't matter anyways, 'cause I wasn't stopping.  I threw my keys in, threw the car in reverse, and tore outta there!  Shouts and crashes echoed behind me as the men dove out of my way, but hey, who were they to complain?  After all, who was holding who at gunpoint here?  Like I said…

            I didn't go all the way out to the road though.  I couldn't.  Their big, black fortress on wheels (aka Jeep) was blocking the driveway.  That was just fine with me though.  My car was small and narrow, and I just barely slipped through between the garage and barn and into the field behind.  I managed to hear the Jeep roar to life behind me, but I had a good lead.  Now that the immediate danger had passed, and my heart rate was something close to normal, excitement began to kick in as I drove through what had become quite a storm.

            It was a rush, a high of adrenaline itself.  I was shooting through fields, over ditches, around trees at maniac speed, glimpsing such hazards with each bolt of lightening, leaving me only seconds to react.  I was living every parent's worst nightmare about teenage drivers and, despite myself…I was enjoying it.  The thrill, the charge, the excitement was so fresh, so commanding that it just took over.  Maybe that's why I couldn't stop what happened next.

            You've all heard gunfire in the movies, yes?  Well let me tell you something, in real life it sounds a WHOLE lot different.  There's no cute popping noise, no Tsew! Tsew! as little holes suddenly appear in nearby sheds and the ground.  No, in real life it's like a miniature sonic boom going off behind you, and when it hits your vehicle, you know it.

            It took me several seconds to actually comprehend what was happening behind me; what was making that noise.  Then my back window shattered, crystalline bits filling the inside of my car.  I felt my car surge forward beneath me, and heard the impact of two more bullets in my trunk.  Finally, I realized they were shooting, AT ME!  I guess my first impression of these psychos had been wrong.  They were going to take me down at all costs.  'Fine!' I thought.  'They wanna mess, than we'll mess!'  The adrenaline junkie inside me subsided as the mistress of survival took over.  If they weren't going to play by the rules anymore, than neither would I!

            I jerked the wheel hard to my right, tore through a culvert, and swerved back onto the slick roadway.  I heard the Jeep do the same just a fraction of a second behind me.  They were gaining on me as my tires spun on the wet road, losing traction and speed.  Soon, I knew, they'd be in firing range and that it would be over, I'd be done for.  Then…it happened.  A tingling on the back of my neck, a clench of muscles, a flash of bright light that illuminated the sky above, then it surged through me. 

            The lightening!  It was like ecstasy, running through my body, filling up my senses.  I was alive!  I was powerful!  And those pitiful fools would regret ever chasing me.  Bolts danced above my car again and again, bending to my will, lighting my way.  My sunroof exploded as another bolt tore through my system.  My hair was standing on end, my limbs tingling with pleasure.

            I tried to stop what happened, I really did.  But it was as if my mind and will had all been crushed underneath some giant foot.  I couldn't speak, couldn't see, couldn't control my own body.  It was like having a split personality that reared it's ugly head when my…my powers, my abilities, whatever you want to call them, kicked in.  The power was just so…so forceful that it took over, feeding off my anger and growing from my excitement till it was beyond comprehension or containment.  

It was just like before, back in class.  A cry burst from my throat, and then the bolts above my head converged, turned, and struck the object of my terror and rage.  There was an explosion of enormous proportions as pieces of steel and glass whizzed through the air.  Fire and smoke smoldered in the rain and hid the wreckage from view, not that I could've seen it anyway.  The disaster that I'd caused had left my body drained, and as I began to regain control and feeling in my limbs, my car continued forward onto the curving road ahead.  There was no time to stop, no time to swerve as my car, speeding on with no one in control, pitched off the road, rolling down the hill on it's side.  There was no time for pain as the impact happened, no time for fear or regret.  Just enough time for oblivion to open it's arms to me…and for me to gratefully collapse into them.  


	12. 1 Step Forward and 2 Steps Back

646 paced back and forth down the empty hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the desolate building.  The warehouse had once been part of the EcoLogics Steel Mill, which had operated successfully on the edge of town , near the expressway, for almost 20 years.  But the plant had gone belly up almost a decade ago, when new technology and foreign markets had proved to be too much competition.  Now, the facility would serve as the perfect spot for 646's base of operations.

            There was a sharp crackle of static in the air, and the lone man jumped slightly at the new noise, before striding sharply to a table illuminated by a single, bare light bulb.  In the dim glow, he could just barely make out he communications hook-up littering the tabletop, resembling an old ham radio.  It was standard, military issued, long-distance radio, used to keep platoons in touch with their commanders, sometimes situated miles away.  Now, it would serve the same purpose.

            Again the signal crackled…and then a faint voice emerged from a speaker grill on the side of the device.

            "Base, this is mobile one.  Base, do you copy?"  646 couldn't respond to that query fast enough, grabbing at his radio so quickly that he dropped it the first time.

            "This is Base, mobile one.  What is your report?"

            "Sir, there is defiantly someone here.  There's a vehicle in the garage, and tracks around the back of the house.  We're going to go in for a closer look.  Over?"  646 felt a surge of adrenaline course through his veins.  This was it!  After weeks of waiting and searching, they had her now!  The three units of junior members that he's recruited had spent almost three weeks searching every possible location with a tie to the girl or her family.  Finally, they'd found records of a house in the name of the girl's father and her uncle, which hadn't been searched yet.  It was his last shot, his last idea.  And, 646 admitted to himself smugly, it looked as if it were going to pay off.

            "Mobile one, proceed with caution.  Remember, the girl is to be considered armed and dangerous…and she is to be brought back alive!"  There was a pause, and then another crackle of soft speech.

            "Yes sir.  Switching to radio silence, we'll be in touch shortly.  Mobile one, over and out."  And then there was nothing more.  So 646 resumed his pacing.  Back…and forth…and back…and forth.  His worry began to increase with each passing second.  It seemed as if hours had passed when his radio came to life once again.  This time the voice was loud, yelling through the speaker and panting for breath.

            "Sir…sir, she's here!  She's on the run!"  No time for formalities this time, as the mobile one officer got right to the point.  646 screamed back into his own communicator, blood pounding in his ears.

            "Pursue!  Pursue at all costs.  DO Not let her get away!" he screamed in a blind rage.  This girl had gone too far, crossed too many lines.  And now, when he was this close to having her, to making her pay, she gets the jump on them…again!  Well, she wouldn't escape.  He'd see to that.  The men had proven their reliability again and again over the past few weeks.  They'd get her, he assured himself of that.

            "She's in her vehicle sir, we're following.  Conditions are very bad right now, sir.  Visibility limited.  Wait…she's slowing.  I think we've got her sir, I think…."  And then there was nothing more.  646 waited on pins and needles, standing there for hours, sometimes screaming for a reply, sometimes waiting patiently.  But no response came.  Nothing.

            It didn't take long for him to figure that the men were gone.  Just more names added to the list of casualties produced by that demon, that mutant!  He decided then and there that it didn't matter how long it took, or how dangerous it was.  He'd send that girl on a one way trip to hell…even if it meant going down there with her.  Slowly, he moved from his position.  He had to destroy any evidence of what had occurred out there…and to plan for his next move.


	13. Alone At The End

                                                Soundtrack of My Life-Song #2:

_"I'm not supposed to be scared of anything but I don't know where I am._

_ I wish that I could move, but I'm exhausted and nobody understands._

_I'm trying hard to breathe now, but there's no air in my lungs._

_There's no one here to talk to and the pain inside is making me numb."_

~Three Doors Down

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cold.  That's what I noticed first.  A terrible gut-wrenching, heart-stopping chill.  My frame was wracked with shivers, and each convulsion bombarded my senses with pain.  I couldn't open my eyes at first, but I didn't need to see to know what had happened.  The accident, the crash, I could remember it all with surprising clarity.  The sounds, the smells, the sights.  The terror.

It took a long time but I managed to open my eyes enough to see in the dim glow of the coming dawn.  The world had tilted on its axis and left me behind.  My car was upside down and tilted with the passenger side resting higher up the slope.  It took one look for me to realize that I had very little chance of being spotted by anyone driving by.  Even scarier than that was the sight of my body.  I had slipped form my seat belt and was laying on what had once been the roof of my car.  The windshield was gone, completely shattered, and most of the remnants of glass seemed to be embedded in my skin.  

I'd never seen so much blood, so much red.  My chest hurt with every breath and one of my legs was moving under a will not my own, kicking out randomly and drawing screams of pain from deep inside me.  I couldn't make the other leg move at all.  My arms looked like raw hamburger.  I threw up.  More blood.  'Oh God!,' I thought, 'I'm dying.  This is how I'm going to die.'  I was scarred.  Tears slipped down my face and burned like acid as they coursed over my ravaged cheeks.  

The blackness wasn't always pulling at me, but it was always there, beckoning me to slip down into its depths of nothingness.  I drifted in and out of consciousness often, with no apparent pattern as to why or for how long.  When I was awake I experienced both moments of great clarity, and moments where the lines of fiction and reality blurred until it was impossible to tell one from the other.

I either passed out or fell asleep because when I looked at the sky next it was a blaze of early morning glory.  I took a deep, rasping breath and winced as my muscles stretched.  The sudden rush of air into my mouth nearly chocked me and I hacked, my throat so dry it felt as if the walls of my airway were grinding against each other.  My vision was blurry and spots flashed before my eyes.  I knew I was dehydrated and the loss of blood wasn't helping.  I also knew I had no water, nothing to drink or eat, and that soon the lack of hydration would make me pass out.  After that, it was all over.

'It's over anyway,' the little voice in the back of my head whispered.  I realized it was true.  If someone found me, they might get help, but sooner or later I would be identified and my parents would be called.  Then I'd be shoved into some 'facility' to be rehabilitated.  Or worse, what if the psychos that had been chasing me found me?  God knows what they would do.  And I know I had no chance of getting out of here on my own.  I needed medical attention, but there was no way I could get it. 

"Game over," I muttered softly.  The words burned in my throat as they emerged, and I felt something warm slide down my throat.  'Great, more blood,' I though bitterly.  I laid my head down as the dizziness overcame me and I spiraled into the oblivion of emptiness…

            …The heat was intense, filling the cabin of the car.  Beads of sweat lined my brow, dripped into my eyes, making my spotty vision even worse.  I tried to raise my head up, but the motion just made me dizzy and nauseous.  I turned and threw up, or tried to.  All my stomach did was convulse.  There was nothing left to bring up.  I heaved weakly.  Then, in a burst of clarity, I remembered something I'd heard once on the news.  I reached out my left hand blindly, rummaging through the contents of my duffel which now littered the grass and the space around me.  When my fingers closed around a small object, I brought it up to my face.  It was a penny.  Large, but it would do.  I popped it in my mouth, sucking on it to try and moisten the dry tissue of my mouth and throat.  Wouldn't stop the dehydration, but it would help.  God, I was so tired, why was I even trying anymore?  I just wanted to sleep…

            …I strained to move my neck, to look up through the space where the windshield should have been.  I heard a noise.  Then, sudden movement next to me.  A figure squatting next to the bent-open door.  A cool hand on my forehead.  I focused, made out the lines of a dim face.  No, couldn't be…

            "Mom?  Mommy?"  The words emerged in a voice not my own, and the pain that came with them made my head spin.  She nodded, her hand still caressing my forehead gently.  Just like when I'd had food poisoning two years ago.

            "Shhhhh.  It's okay sweetie.  I'm here," she assured me.  I heard her humming softly.  It was a lullaby she used to sing to me and my siblings when we were little.  I closed my eyes and felt my muscles relax.  I wanted to talk to her, to ask her so much.  To tell her I loved her, but I was afraid of the pain.  I couldn't make my mouth open.  So I just lay there, taking comfort in her touch.  But then I felt her hands move down from my head and pause at my neck, felt her hands tense.  Felt them grip my neck tightly.  She was choking me!  

            "Mutant Freak!  I though we raised you right, I though you loved us!  But no, you go and disgrace the family and cause so much trouble!"  My eyes flew open and I flailed weakly to loosen her grip.  I couldn't breathe!  And then…then she was gone, just gone.  And I was alone once more…

            …"Sissy, play with us.  Just one more ball, please?"  My head was throbbing, but I pried my eyes open anyway.  In the eerie glow of the early evening, stood two figures, watching me with petulant looks on their faces.  My sisters, here?  "Please?"

            'Brittany?  Bryce?' I wondered.  'I'm so tired…just let me sleep,' I begged silently.  But they wouldn't leave, they just stood there in their yellow and blue uniforms from the Park District softball league.  I had to help them warm-up.  They just wanted help.  My left hand scrambled frantically, deliriously, through the mess.  My bat, where was my bat?  I had to hit them some pop-ups.  They always had trouble with those.  I tried to raise the bat, tried to hit the ball, but there was no ball to hit and no bat to swing.  

            "Sissy, why won't you help us?  You're so mean!"  They turned together and walked away, leaving me.  

            'No…please come back…,' I thought desperately, but I couldn't make my mouth form the words.  Why did everyone leave me?  Like those people at school…They all ran away from me…left me.  They died because of what I am and now I was going to die because of what I was.  I was going to die here all alone, cold and alone.  Maybe it was God getting back at me for hurting all those people.  This was my punishment, my penance.  The tears fell like rain, burning over the cuts on my face, cuts I hadn't yet seen.  They mixed with the caked blood along my jaw line and turned red, rolling down my cheeks.  As night moved in, bringing the cold with it, I worried they would freeze on my cheeks.  But I couldn't stop.  There, forgotten on a desolate road, alone and broken and scared, I cried for all that I'd done, and began to pray for the end to come quickly…

             …The smell…I knew that smell.  Rich and musty.  Cigar smoke, that's what it was.  It was the smell I associated with my grandfather, the one who'd owned the summer home.  He loved those old cigars.  He died when I was young, only six, and I had so few memories of him.  It was the odd things I remembered, like how he always kept hard candy in his car for me to eat, or how he used to write lefty, but throw righty, or how he always smelled of cigar smoke.  A noise, off to my left, walking down the slope.  'Here it is, it's all over,' the little voice in my head quipped.  I closed my eyes, tired from trying to strain through the darkness, and waited for the end.  Waited…and waited…but no end came.  Instead all that happened was that the strange smell of cigars lingered in the air and grew stronger.  Then suddenly,

            "Hey there pumpkin.  What's wrong?"  The voice was deep and comforting, familiar, I realized.  There was a dull 'CREAK' of straining metal and I felt a presence come of rest on the car framework next to me.  Felt a hand reach for mine in the darkness, twining fingers with mine.  "There, don't cry.  It's going to be alright."

            I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes.  I knew that the person sitting with me was my grandfather, my Poppy.  But I'd also seen my mother and sisters here today, and they hadn't been real.  This wouldn't be either I decided.  This mirage of my grandfather would stay for a brief period, prolonging my suffering and madness, then leave me crushed and begging for an end.  I couldn't open my eyes.  I didn't have the strength to face those awful visions again.

            But time passed, and my Poppy's hand didn't leave mine.  It was comforting and warm, unlike my 'mothers' from earlier.  On some level, I think it's what kept me alive during the worst part of my ordeal, that second night.  I was literally freezing to death, and I don't honestly know how I was still able to function after the loss of so much blood.  Maybe I was just stubborn, or maybe it was divine intervention.  Hell, maybe it was just sheer dumb luck.  But for whatever reason, I made it through.

            I never did open my eyes.  I didn't have the strength to do so any longer.  Therefore I had no idea how late it was when my Grandfather pulled his hand out from mine.  I must have been conscious, because I remember panicking, wanting to grab for it through the darkness, but not having the strength to.  I tried vainly with my right hand, but it hurt too much to move that one.  Then his voice, deep and strong, whispered once again in my ear.

            "Shhhh!  Easy there, Pumpkin.  The worst is over.  You'll be fine now, you ride's here.  Just relax," he said, but whether his voice faded because he was leaving, or because I was, I'll never know.  But either way it did, and I was alone once again when the blackness came for me.  I didn't struggle, didn't fight this time.  'It's all over,' I thought, 'it's all over…'

A:N:/ I don't know why exactly, but I really liked writing this chapter.  It kinda shows Zoe's vulnerability, which is important.  Maybe it's stupid though, so help me out here.  If you're going to review any of the chapters that I've written, please do this one.  I'd love to hear your opinions.  


	14. What's Lost Is Found

A/N: Okay, I had a total brain fart when I was deciding where Zoe should come from: I completely forgot that Kitty came from Chicago.  But then I realized that that might make things work better.  So here it is, my first x-men chappie.  And it's dedicated to my most loyal readers: Tigereyes and Faith!

Scott fingered and fidgeted with the papers in his hand simply for lack of anything better to do.  His pace down the long hallway was swift as usual, and his manner stoic.  Though he'd never admit it, years of leading this team of his had worn him down, hardened him.  He'd learned that life wasn't easy at a young age, but he never really figured that it would be this hard for so long.  He sighed deeply before knocking on the Professor's office door.  If he were correct, maybe this day wouldn't be as bad as some of  the others.

            "Come in Scott," was the muffled reply through the thick mahogany doors.  Scott swung them in a wide arc and strode across the office to where Charles Xavier sat at the window, looking out at the courtyard below.  It was a Saturday, and the younger children had started a rambunctious game of kickball, relishing in the warmth of the early spring.  Despite all that he had accomplished in his life, Professor X still took the most joy and pride in watching the students grow into the people they would become for the rest of their lives, not to mention watching them play together, as he was now.  

            He didn't need to ask why Scott had come to see him, the answer was clear enough in the man's mind.  Charles simply held out his hand for the papers and began reading.  One was a slightly yellowed newspaper article with the heading **Suburban High School Disaster-Unexplainable**.  The second sheet was an online article with read **Disaster at local HS; Possible Mutant Involvement**.  He flipped the pages, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner.

            "Kitty's mother sent these?" he asked, but he knew the answer before Scott even spoke.

            "Actually just the one.  Said it was published in the Chicago Sun-Times.  She found it a couple weeks ago, thought we might find it useful.  I found the second one online afterwards.  Think there's any fact to 'em?" he asked, wondering aloud.

            "Possible, or they could just be wildly embellished paper sellers.  What do you think?" Charles asked, locking eyes with his former pupil, curious as to what his instincts were telling him.  Scott just sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to ward off a headache.  

"I don't know.  Two similar stories, about the same incident, both labeling it as unexplainable, and mentioning the same girl.  Seems like too many coincidences for them to not be connected.  Why, you don't think they are?

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm certainly going to try and find out," the Professor replied, his eyes shining with a vibrancy typical of a man half his age.  Sometimes Scott was hard pressed to remember that, despite his active nature and resilient spirit, the Professor was getting on in years.  But on days like these, his age didn't even seem to be a factor.

            Charles glanced at the pages once more, just to make sure he had the location right, and thrust them back at Scott.  Eager he wheeled past him and out of the room.  There was no doubt in Scott's mind as to where the Professor was headed…

            …That's why he wasn't surprised when he was mentally hailed just an hour later.  

            _//Scott, could_ _I speak to you in my office, please?//_  There was a note of triumph in Xavier's mental tone that led Scott to believe that his hunch was most likely correct.  He sighed.  This was going to be a long night.  

            Jean was waiting in the Professor's office as well when he arrived.  She looked slightly frazzled, slightly excited, and very happy to see her boyfriend walk through the door.  Scott's mood lifted immediately as he felt the gentle mental greeting Jean placed in his mind.  It was warm and comforting and Scott returned her loving gaze.  Though it was doubtful that Jean could see it through his see it through his visor.

            Xavier gestured for him to take the seat next to Jean. He was eager to debrief these two and get them on their way.  

            "Scott, it seems as if you were, indeed, correct.  I managed to locate the child who was the source of both events."  There was something in Xavier's voice, something he wasn't saying yet.  Jean caught it almost instantly, though.

            "What is it?  What's the problem then?" she asked quickly.  

            "She's not in any populated location.  And I'm having trouble locking onto her mental signature for any prolonged period of time."  Apparently that made sense to Jean, but Scott was utterly perplexed.  

            _//Could mean several different things, honey.  Might just be that she's a potential telepath and she's learning to block her mental stream.  But it might also mean that she's sick, or unconscious, which would be bad.//_  Scott nodded.

            "So where is she then?" Scott asked, eager to be on the way of there was trouble.  

            "I've pinpointed her location about 20 miles outside a small town in Wisconsin.  I'll upload the precise coordinates to the _Blackbird_'s navigational system."  Xavier wheeled out from behind the desk to gaze out the window.  "You two should get on your way, it's getting late and you probably don't want to be out all night," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice.  He didn't take his eyes off the panoramic view outside until he heard the couple get up to leave.  Just as Scott walked to the threshold he called out.  "Oh and Scott, be careful."

            Scott had piloted the jet to the stretch of open land highlighted on the navigational console.  It was right off an empty back-road, but it was too risky to just park the _Blackbird_ in the middle of the street, so they landed in a freshly plowed field about a hundred yards away.  Jean de-boarded while Scott powered down and cloaked the jet.  She began walking along the shoulder of the narrow road, peering into the darkness.  It was quickly approaching midnight, and the inky blackness that came from being so far away from any streetlamps or city lights made it almost difficult for her to see her hands in front of her face.

            _//Scott, before you leave the plane grab some flashlights.  Can't see a thing out here,//_ she told him mentally.  She saw the bright pin-pricks of light shining through the darkness just seconds later.  He threw he one as he approached, dressed in full uniform, as was she.  It was just a precautionary measure.  'Better safe than sorry,' Jean told herself as she strained her eyes and her mind for any sign of their target.  She found none.

            Scott was quickly becoming frustrated with their search.  He'd been pacing up and down the cold and abandoned street for almost an hour without seeing hide nor hair of the girl they were after.  Maybe she'd moved, or maybe they were just in the wrong place altogether.  Either way, he was ready to call it a night.  Jean, however, was determined.

            "Scott, we can't leave just yet," she pleaded, continuing farther up the road.  

            "We've been up and down this road a dozen times already," he ranted.  "There is nothing here!"  But his partner clearly wasn't listening.  Jean had gone several hundred yards down the road, where it curved, running into a slightly wooded area.  On one side there was a steep embankment which she'd searched before.  But as Jean flashed her light over the area yet again, something shone in the darkness, flickering as the light passed over it.  Without a second though, Jean half fell, half flew down the slope.  Feeling incredibly stupid, she noticed now what both she and Scott had missed before.  There, embedded underneath the road was a metal drainage tube, extending outwards on both sides.  And concealed behind the massive pipe was a car…well, what was left of a car.  Had it not been for the shattered remains of a rearview mirror littering the ground, Jean never would have noticed the vehicle at all.  

            _//Scott!  C'mere, hurry!//_

            Scott sprinted up the length of the road, cursing himself for letting Jean wander off without him.  If anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself.  He skidded down the slope, honing in on the glow of her flashlight.  But when he found her, his worry suddenly shifted to the passenger in the remnants of the upside down vehicle in front of him.  He knelt next to Jean, who was crouched besides to the space where the driver's door had once been.  What he saw inside made his heart ache.

            The interior of the car was doused in blood and glass.  Debris was littered everywhere.  And there, on her stomach in the center of the destroyed vehicle, was a girl matching the picture he's seen in the paper just hours earlier.  Her blonde hair was matted, slick with sweat and blood.  One leg was clearly broken, bent at an angle that legs were never meant to reach.  Her upturned face was cut and embedded with glass from in more places than Scott could count.  Her arms looked no better.  Despite himself, he felt his stomach churn beneath him and he was forced to look away.         

            Jean's doctor instincts took over for her, and she pushed down the sadness welling inside her heart as she stretched out her hands to the child, feeling for a pulse.  She was surprised and relieved when the vein beneath her fingers surged faintly.  

            "Well, I guess we know why the professor had a hard time locking in on her," Jean muttered, hoping that, for the girl's sake, she hadn't been conscious for much of her ordeal.  In fact, as Jean reached out to touch the girl's mind with her own, she was amazed that Xavier had been able to locate her at all.  Even though she was in contact with the girl, her mental signature was incredibly faint.  The fact that the Professor had spotted her from thousands of miles away was further tribute to his telepathic prowess.  

            "What I want to no is why was she out here in the first place?" Scott wondered aloud, pacing back and forth behind her.

            "Well," Jean muttered softly, picking some puzzling images out of the girl's mind, "that answer's easy.  What's really puzzling is who is she running from?"      

A/N: So what do you think, did I do okay?  If any of the X-Men are OOC or I just totally botched them up altogether, please feel free to chew me out and I'll try and mend my ways…;) 


	15. Interlude: Zoe's Notebook Page 16

A/N: Hey guys!  No updates in a long time, sorry.  I posted 4 chapters last time because I knew I'd be out of pocket for a while.  I have massive amounts of homework presently, not to mention the ACT's coming up and my AP history exam.  Between that and softball, I've been a little busy.  So my beta reader came up with this great idea: give the readers a peak inside Zoe's illusive notebooks.  All the stories/poems/prose are written by my beta in her free time, and she'd love to hear your thoughts.  And fear not, Zoe and the X-Men shall have new chappies up (hopefully) by the end of this coming weekend, and 646 the week after that.  And, hey, to hold you over between updates ( J ) go see X2, which comes out this week.  *turns from computer and screams in excitement… 

*Can't think of a title right now…come back later

You'll never see me cry

Won't see me shed a tear

I'll save those for my pillow

To show when no one's near

There's nothing on my face

Except a look of stone

No emotions ever lay there

Unless I am alone

These pieces of my soul

I hide from every view

And all I'd like to show

I'll hide from even you

Lost  No, Turned Around

I got lost on the road of life.

Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere between teenager and eternity.

Because I can't seem to figure out where I am anymore.

I knew the road felt too winding beneath me.

Maybe I should turn around…

retrace my steps…?

But I've seen all there is to see back there.

And my group is probably long gone by now anyways.

Maybe, If I just keep walking, I'll run into someone new.

Or I might just wander the world alone .

But then again, who's ever alone, when the memories inside your head talk back?

No Title

I can't see you anymore

But your spirit moves around me.

I reach out and try to call

But my voice just seems to fade.

If you can't be here for me now

How will I make it 'till tomorrow/

Without the presence of your hand

How will I make it through the day?


	16. Watching and Waiting

A/N: Alright, here it is.  A real update, just to keep Some Fan from self-destructing :)  I know I said two chappies, but I accidentally saved the main 1st person portion of The Struggle to the desktop and, not knowing that I had, I deleted it, including the unpublished chapter 17, so I'm a little behind schedule.  But never fear, I'm still here!  

Jean was sitting in the dim med lab, hunched in here desk chair, refusing to take her eyes off the lab's only occupant.  It had to be mid-morning, but in the solitude of the windowless lab, it could have been full night.  And to Jean, it felt like it.  She was utterly exhausted, hours of surgery could do that to a person.  'And it still might have all been for nothing,' she thought depressingly.  The slight WOOSH of the door opening made her jump, but Hank McCoy's entrance was a welcome distraction.  The girl's, no…Zoe's injuries, had been so complex.  It was such a relief to have had Hank's aid in the matter.  He'd had just a bit more experience in the surgery field and, though Jean was embarrassed to admit it, she was out of practice.

            "You're still down here?" Hank demanded, though the answer was obvious.  Jean took a moment to utter a silent prayer that her patient didn't take this exact moment to wake up.  Hank may have saved her life, but his appearance wasn't exactly comforting.  Big, blue, and furry tended to take some getting used to.

            "Yeah…didn't have the heart to leave…" Jean muttered.  Her eyes desperately craved sleep, but she just couldn't make her mind rest.  She sighed as Hank reassuringly placed his hands on her tensed shoulder.

            "You did great.  But she's got a long road ahead of her, and you're no good to her sleep deprived."  He gently lifted her by her shoulder blades, setting her steadily on her feet.  "Now get on out of here.  Go see that man of yours before he forgets what you look like, and for God's sake get some shuteye."  He chuckled and escorted her to the door.  "Now get."

            "Okay, okay.  I'm going…," Jean muttered.  She turned, just as the door was closing behind her.  "Oh, and Hank, anything changes, come and get me."  Hank just laughed, but he understood how Jean was feeling.  His focus was more on experimental research now, but he'd done the doctor thing for a ten years.  Sometimes it was just so hard to shut it all off, to separate the job from life.  'But what about when your job _is_ saving lives?' he asked himself, before settling down at the recently vacated desk.  Now was the perfect time to catch up on those reports…

…And he was still engrossed in his reading hours later, when the doors parted again.

            "Hank!  Rumor had it you were back in town.  Guess rumor was right for once."  Hank rounded at that cheery voice.

            "Ororo!  Dear, it's good to see you again."  He rose and accepted her warm embrace.  "It seems like ages.  How are you?"  She chuckled in her rich soprano voice and tossed her flowing white hair over one shoulder, shifting the grubby box under her arm. 

            "Can't complain…well, I could, but I won't."  She peered over his shoulder at the mass of tubes and bandaging concealing the mansion's late night arrival.  "Certainly can't complain after the night it looks like you had.  How is she?"  Hank followed her gaze.

            "Believe it or not, she's actually doing better than she was.  Vitals are improving across the board.  It's still hard to say, but I have a good feeling about this one.  Something tells me she's going to pull through."  Suddenly 'Ro thrust her parcel into his hands.

            "Good, than you can hold onto this for her."  He looked at it dimly for a moment.  

            "What is it?" he asked to Ororo's retreating back, as she brushed past him, moving closer to the still figure in the bed.  He hefted the box onto an empty bed, pushing aside the flaps to peer at the contents.

            "Her stuff.  Well, all that we could salvage," she explained, peering closer at one of the girl's blinking bedside monitors.  "Scott and I were assigned clean up duty when classes ended.  Didn't want people asking funny questions about abandon, bloody cars on the side of the road.  Scott actually dragged that hunk of junk back here." 

            "The way she looked, was there any car left?"  Hank looked up from the package, cocking his fuzzy blue eyebrows in surprise.  'Ro chuckled from across the room.

            "Not much, but Scott seems to think that repairing it will be a good project for his auto classes.  And with the _Blackbird_, it wasn't that hard to get it back here.  Plus there was this little matter that Jean wanted us to look in to, so we had to go out there anyway."  Hank quickly picked up on what she was talking about.

            "Did you find anything?"  Jean had mentioned the disturbing images she'd seen within the girl's head, but Hank was still skeptical .  Ororo's reaction didn't boost his confidence either.

            "Not so much as a skid mark.  And I practically went over that road with a microscope.  Maybe she just imagined she was being chased?"

            "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see what she remembers when she wakes up," Hank responded, when one of the girl's possessions caught his eye.  Carefully, as if it were a china doll, he extracted the worn baseball mitt out from underneath some clothing and a dirt-covered book.  It was faded white in some places, the leather soft and supple.  And running across the pocket was a line of speckled red dots.  It didn't take a genius to figure out what it was.  Hank just sighed and placed it back in the box, before placing it in the closet at the back of the room.  He hoped he'd be pulling it out again real soon.  "_When_ she wakes up…" he muttered to himself.  


	17. Awakening of Trust

                                                Soundtrack of My Life-Song #3:

_"I'm alright, I'm alright._

It only hurts when I'm real…" 

~Greenwheel

A/N: I forget who asked this, but Henry 'Hank' McCoy is better known as Beast.  He's got a cameo in X2 and is a favorite of mine from the cartoon and comics…Just FYI…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coming to was like being hit upside the head with a sledgehammer: painful, startling, and impossible to see coming.  One second there was nothing…then, everything.  Thoughts, noises, feelings all filling the void that had been my body for a short period of time.  I surged upward blindly through the darkness…or, at least I would have.  I tried to anyways.  Instead, I was thrown back into a vertical position as all the air was (painfully) forced from my lungs.  Gasping, I tried to fill them again, but found that I couldn't.  It felt as if something was lodged in my throat.  I writhed frantically, trying to bring my hands to bear to remove the obstruction, but I couldn't.  They were as restrained as my upper body was.  Choking and sputtering, I wheezed again, unable to fill my lungs.  My thoughts began to swirl and there was a ringing in my ears.  Maybe that's why I didn't hear as help came.  

            "Hang on, hang on.  Just relax…"

            My chest was on fire and a tingling was spreading in my hands and arms.  But then, salvation.  The pressure in my mouth and running down my neck began to lessen.  Gagging horribly, I felt whatever it was blocking my windpipe come free.  I took huge gulps of air, like a starving man at a Thanksgiving Dinner.  In, out, in, out.  It was like sandpaper on the walls of my throat, but it was better than suffocation.  

            "There.  That better?" a delicate voice asked from beyond the darkness surrounding me.  It was then, with my head finally clear, that I realized my eyes were actually open.  For one brief, horrible second, I panicked, believing I'd been blinded.  But my vision cleared, and I began to make out slivers of light here and there.  Something was covering my eyes.  There was a strange scratching noise (Velcro maybe?) and my left arm came free.  It was raised and brought to my throat by whoever was talking to me.  Even with my fingers slightly numbed, I could feel the bulbous shape of my neck.

            "Do you feel that?" the strange voice asked of me again.  I tried to speak, but failed, so I just nodded as best I could.  "That's the spot where half your windshield lodged under the skin.  There's over a hundred stitches in your neck right now, which is why it's so swollen and why you couldn't breath with that tube in your throat…at least you couldn't when you panicked.  So take it easy on your voice.  Give it some time."

            I heard the words, but they passed through my brain without registering.  Windshield?  Stitches, what?  I was processing every little piece of information slowly, and putting the pieces together was like trying to see through a thick fog.  The images were blurry and distorted, evading my grasp and comprehension.  I had so many questions, and I was so confused, but then…well, I'm not really sure what happened.  There was this feeling, this gentle touch inside my head that filled me with warmth and reassurance.  Like when you're little and scared because of a thunderstorm outside.  How you creep out of bed and, barefoot with blanket in tow, tip-toe into your parent's room.  How you wiggle and squirm in between your parents and snuggle into their big bed and, suddenly, the storm's not so scary anymore.  It was a feeling like that.  And just like that little girl laying with her mommy and daddy, I found sleep inevitable.  

            …It was subtle at first.  A soft, persistent tune that worked its way into my twisted world of dreams.  Gradually though, the song began to grow louder, finally leading me from of the insanity playing out inside my brain and back into a world that was even stranger still.  Feeling the last tendrils of the dream slip from my grasp, I laid still for a brief moment, barely breathing, and let the music wash over me.  Some classical tune, it was both simple and extremely complex.  Passionate and stirring and delicate and mellow all at once, the music had nothing to hide.  

            Realizing full consciousness, I opened my eyes to another onslaught of darkness.  I shifted slightly on the bed, frustrated with questions that had no answers.  The pain generated by that simple motion was strong enough to make me gasp and dig my fingernails into my palms.  The noise alerted the room's other occupant that I was awake.

            "Well, well, the good lady wakes," was the comment uttered from nearby, as the music suddenly stopped, accompanied by a faint 'click'.  The words were quickly followed by a sharp prick in my already throbbing arm.  "There, that should help a little."  I had just a second to wonder 'huh?' before a blessed numbness washed over my entire body like a wave onto the shore.  A gentle sigh escaped my lips.

            "Thank you."  It was the first thing I'd said since arriving…well, wherever I was.  And had I not felt the words pass from my lips, I'd have never guessed they were mine.  My voice, it didn't even sound like my voice.  It was foreign and strange coming out of me.  The sound was not that of a 17 year old girl, but more like a middle-aged smoker with bad lungs.  It was rough and gravely, and my throat ached with the sound.  

            "My dear, you are most welcome.  How do you feel?"  It took me a moment to realize that the voice was not that of a woman, as it had been before.  This voice was the rich, deep baritone of a man, and judging by the sound of the footsteps as he walked about, a BIG man.  I was hesitant to speak again, but my voice was all too eager to respond.

            "Like I was hit by a Mack Truck," I tried to mutter, but my cracked as I spoke, and I coughed through the last three words.  I moaned, partially in frustration, partially because it was the only normal sound I seemed capable of making.  There was a dull 'screeeech' that I could only guess was a chair being drawn over to my bedside, and a slight 'wumph' that could only be the source of the voice sitting down.

            "Deep breaths," the man prompted.  "Jean did tell you to take it easy on the old vocal cords, didn't she?"  I was only more puzzled than before, part of my brain surging with questions, the other part desperately trying to decipher the answers from the depths of my memory.

            "Jean?" I croaked.  There was a shift in the pressure on my numbed shoulder that was a strange parody of a reassuring pat.

            "The woman who was in here with you earlier.  Her name is Dr. Jean Grey…" he continued speaking, but I was no longer listening.  I was so confused, so scared.  My life had been completely flipped upside down and turned inside out, and now this.  I moved my head back and forth helplessly and, despite myself, I felt tears burning in the corners of my eyes.  

            "What is going on?" I demanded, the sound burning at the walls of my throat.  

            "Easy child.  It's all going to be fine.  Just calm down."  I took a deep breath, feeling none the calmer.  "Good.  Now tell me, what's the last thing you remember?" I was asked.  "Just work your way back, nice and slow."

            The confusion still clouded my brain.  Only now I forced my way through the fog like a battering ram.  Forcing my brain to divulge what it knew.  And each flash, each recovered piece of the puzzle, drove another stake into my already bleeding heart.

            "…the rain.  The road was too wet.  I couldn't stop…" my voice cracked, and a stray tear slipped from under the bandaging.  I went to wipe it away, only to find my hands still tied down.  'Finish this mystery first,' my brain ordered, 'then worry about that.'  I squashed down my eyelids, and delved deeper.

            "…the light was so bright.  And I was terrified…running.  There was…someone…The house, they were in the house!  I was hanging there…and it was so cold…" I gasped, short of breath.  I was unable to stop the tremors that were running through my body as all the awfulness of that night returned.

            "Shhhh!  It's alright child.  Someone was after you that night?  Do you remember who it was?" the voice questioned.  

            Then I was back there again.  Shivering and soaking and bleeding in the dim garage.  The figures in the shadows, guns cocked my direction.  Then he stepped into the light, with those awful hollow eyes hidden beneath that expressionless mask…  

            "I don't know!  I don't know!" I shouted hoarsely, rocking back and forth slightly.  It was too much, too much.

            "Easy there, easy!  It's alright dear.  What happened to the men who were chasing you?" I was asked.  But this time no answers came.  All the details were there: the lightening, the power, the loss of control, the explosion.  But none of those details passed my lips.  Because now I had a pretty good idea of where I was.  They'd gotten me.  Whoever was left from that group of masked freaks had caught up with me, and the last thing they needed to know was that I'd killed their comrades.

            "I don't remember," I stammered.  "But now you'd better start talking.  Where am I?  What the hell do you want with me?" I demanded, choking and hacking as I spoke.

            "You're in New York.  Some of our people found you after you're accident.  They brought you back here for medical attention," my visitor explained.  

            "Where exactly is here?  A hospital?" I asked, hoping for the best, expecting the worst.

            "That's a little hard to explain.  It's actually a school, but that's another story for another day.  Right now you need rest, so you'll just have to trust me that you're safe here."  

            It was getting harder and harder to speak clearly, and my voice was harsher, so all I did was snort bitterly.  A school?  Like hell it was!

            "Trust?  Give me one freakin' reason why I should trust you?  For all I know, it was you chasing me that night."  The terror in my heart was deep and total, but I was trying to put on a brave face.  

"You've got no reason to.  I suppose you're just going to have to learn to trust me," he explained.

            "Trust isn't learned, it's earned," I shot back, hoping to sound tough despite my obvious vocal issues.  "And earning takes time."

            "Then there's no time like the present."  I dimly felt as my hand was placed in the grasp of another.  A desperate attempt at an injured handshake.  "I'll start.  My name in Dr. Hank McCoy.  I'm a physician and researcher, and I helped save your life"  There was a pause, until finally,

            "My name is Zoe…"

A/N: So, you guys like?  I hope so, because I have some bad news.  You've noticed that my updates lately have been slow and lousy.  And they're not he only lousy things right now: my grades are on that list as well.  Between softball regionals and the papers I have coming up and finals, I'm getting behind on my work and pissing my mother off.  So until regionals are over, about three weeks from now, this will be my last update.  Now don't worry, The Struggle is my longest running (not to mention favorite) story and I have no intention of leaving it unfinished.  Three weeks from now (possibly sooner if we loose early) I should start updating regularly again, so keep your eyes open, and don't forget me, b/c when we meet again, 646 has to appear before the council and receive his fate.  So I'll see you all (well, hopefully all of you) in a few weeks.  Oh, and Some Fan, I'm sorry, but you'll actually have to do your homework now :)


	18. The Sect's Council

A/N: In reference to my last author's note- I lied ;)

646's time was up.  His operation had failed.  Only now, as he paced back and forth the deserted hallway, did he even think to all he was going to loose.  Consequences, once seeming so benign, now weighed on him like chains of bondage.  

            Valued members of his team, dead.

            The others, still living, now disheartened and under suspicion as well.

            His life, in serious danger of being ripped from his grasp.

            And all of it, everything, all the pain and death, destruction and madness, loss and rage, all of it from one LITTLE girl.  His hands, tightened into cinderblock-like fists, slammed against the wall.  How could he have let her slip though his fingers?  How?  His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the doors at the end of the hall slammed open. 

            "Come," he was ordered by the escort, "they're ready for you now."  The man was an associate member, an underling, but there was no respect in his voice.  646 was no longer deserving of it.  He began to walk…one foot…another in front of it…step…step.  His footsteps echoed across the empty hall until the escort slammed the door behind him.  He had reached the point of no return.

            Hundreds of eyes shone through the dim shadows, each one boring  a hole into his very being.  646 shivered, despite the sweltering heat inside the crowed auditorium.  He paused, trying to regain his composure, but his escort dug a finger into his back.

            "Move it," he hissed.  Again he began to walk.  But this was a walk of shame, he was being publicly humiliated as he was led to learn his fate.  His neck slumped as he dropped his head in shame.  646, once a proud, well respected leading officer, had been reduced to the lowest of the low.  Members that once regarded him in awe, now looked at him with disgust in their eyes.  Scorn.  Embarrassment.  It was too much for him.  The hushed whispers and snide remarks from the audience were just salt in the wounds on his ego.  Well, what little ego he had left.

            He kept walking.

            He was almost there.

            Ten feet.

            Five.

            Two.

            Stop.

            "Good evening.  Tonight, it is with deep sadness in my heart, that we meet.  For it is here, before the revered and honored council members, that you will all bear witness to the fate of one of our own." 646 continued to stare at his shoes, but he didn't need to look to know who was speaking.  It was his district Commander, the one who had removed 646 from active duty until the date of the council hearing, until today.  Ranking beyond a number, he was known only as Commander.  Once, he had been the only person in the area to hold a rank high than that of 646's.  Once, but now…

            "646, you stand before the esteemed leaders today convicted of failure to adhere to the responsibilities of your rank, dangerous negligence, and, most disturbingly,  responsibility in the deaths of five junior members.  Do you have anything to say in your defense?"  Shakily, 646 raised his eyes upward to regard what he was sure would be the means of his destruction.  

            There  before him were two tables, a large one behind a smaller one.  At the large one were seated the ten local district Commanders, including him own.  But more importantly, seated at the smaller table were the three council members.  The head council member was standing, glaring directly at him as he read the convictions, practically through him it seemed.

            "I…I cannot say anything, revered sir.  There is nothing to say."  His voice sounded much calmer than he felt.  The head of the council nodded.  

            "Very well," then he took a deep breath  "646, given your impeccable record and the success of your past endeavors, I must admit I was surprised to learn that this latest fiasco had been the cause of your negligence.  Had this been your only offense, I would have easily overlooked such a mistake and restored you to your former position…" 646 felt his heart skip a few beats.  The council was being more lenient than he had seen in quite some time.  'Maybe there is hope after all,' he dared to think.  But then the head of council continued.

            "…however, this matter of the junior members is highly disturbing.  We have received testimony that _after_ your suspension as a unit commander, you promised 12 junior members that they would receive full membership with honors if they helped you apprehend the offending mutant girl that you failed to dispose of properly.  Not only was this a clear violation of the code of conduct, but you placed all these young men in grave danger, resulting in the death of five of these promising youths."  T    he auditorium erupted in a roar of outrage and frustration.  There were two sharp 'BANG's as the councilor on the far right banged his gavel against the table.  But that didn't have as much effect as the head councilor's shout of, "Silence!"

            Everyone froze.  Everyone.  Not a sound was heard.  Nothing.  The only movement was 646's heart pounding in his chest.  And the only sound was the blood rushing past his ears in a deafening roar.

            "Therefore, in light of the evidence presented to the council, we have reached a decision.  646, you are to be permanently stripped of your ranking and title," the council head spoke.  646 stopped breathing.  "From this day forward, you shall no longer be a member of this organization on any level.  646, it is my duty to inform you that you are hereby under permanent expulsion from The Sect."  646 hit his knees, body sagging inward.  This couldn't be happening!  This, this was supposed to be the day of his redemption, of his salvation.

            He had played the scene through his head so many times that it almost seemed real, like a premonition.  Himself, and the green junior members, bursting through the door to stand before the council.  Presenting the girl, naked and battered and barely alive, to the council for their disposal.  Him, receiving praise from the highest authority The Sect had.  His rank, restored, and him watching with pride as the junior's with him received full member status, and were placed into his field unit, becoming the sons he never had.  Having the honor of being present at the girl's execution.  I could've all gone so perfectly.  It could've…it should've…

            But the dream faded as 646 met his new and bitter reality.  He struggled to find the words to make it all better, to fix it all, but none came.  He was pulled to his feet by two guards and made to stand, despite the jelly in his limbs.  The head councilor was not yet done with him.

            "646, after tonight, you will be escorted off the premises, and should you ever try to return, you will be disposed of immediately," he spoke.  During his pause, though, 646 finally found his voice.

            "Why won't you just dispose of me now and get it over with?" he pleaded.  Death would have been far sweeter than taking away the driving force in his life.

            "Had it not been for your successful mission in the past, I would have!  I'm showing you mercy here, 646, and I'm warning you: don't make me regret it!"  Then the councilor raised his hands above his head, projecting his voice so that it reached the entire crowd.  "The council has spoken and the dissenter has been eradicated.  Now, it is time to resume our glorious task.  Help me, brave followers, and turn your back on this messenger of evil!" he cried, gesturing to 646.  En masse, the crowd rose to its feet, yelling and rejoicing in the councilor's words.  This was the part that 646 feared the most.  You see, he knew what happened next.  He'd seen it before, just once.  Once was all it took to know you never wanted to experience it.

            "646, please remove your mask."

            His hands were shaking as they rose to the back of his skull.  They fumbled with the clasp, a clasp he'd done so many times before.  The straps parted.  His sweaty hands left misty fingerprints on the hard black shell.  A wisp of hair emerged, jet black.  A nose, cheeks, eyes, and all.  The black mask, the purple ranking band, were wrenched from his grasp.  Strong hands spun him around to face the crowd.  There was the usual gasp of surprise, but then the precession began.  A guard on each side, he was led down the isle, and as he passed each row of people, they turned their backs to him.  It was the utter humiliation, the walk of shame.  It was over for 646 though, because mentally he was no longer there…

            The guards closed the auditorium doors snugly behind them, and the precession was over.  They left him to hear the rest of the council's presentation.  He was no longer their concern, or anyone's concern for that matter.  Which is why he was surprised to hear voices as he rounded the corner of the narrow hall. 

            Crowding the narrow space were the boys, his boys.  Each of them waiting patiently, for him it seemed.  As he made his way into the light, they straightened up and moved to surround him.  Their leader, the eldest of the masked crowd, stood at the forefront of the slight mob.  

"We need to talk."  646 tried to brush past them, but two pairs of arms grabbed him by the shoulders and held him in place.  So he took a shaky breath instead, barely trusting his own voice.

            "Look boys, don't do this.  You're in enough trouble as it is.  Just go on home now."

            "Not yet," the unofficial leader of their little band informed him.  "We need to discuss our next move and there's no time like the present."  646 just laughed bitterly.  This really was too much.

            "_Our_ next move?  _Next _move?" he asked incredulously, still feeling naked without his mask.  "Boys, look, it's over.  Done with, that's it, fin, that's all she wrote.  There's no more us, no more movement.  The kid's long gone, and after tonight, so am I.  So get out of here, keep your noses clean, and try to put this mess behind you," 646 ordered.  But the circle of young men never budged.  They stood, parade stance, feet firmly planted, awaiting orders.

            "Sir, with all do respect…" their leader began again, but he was cut short.

            "'All do respect' my ass!  Do you know what just happened in there?  Huh?" he looked around at each hardened, hidden face, but none held the answers to the question, so he supplied it himself.  "I've been terminated!  Kicked out of the district that I helped to form!  So don't you start babbling about respect.  There is no such thing as respect."  He pushed through the wall of bodies and stormed towards the doors.  He tried not to hear the voice behind him.  He tried…

            "It's not about respect anymore!  It's not even about The Sect anymore!  This is beyond them, above them.  This is a matter of safety, of courage, of honor.  Those men died, willingly following your orders, at her hand.  We have a duty to avenge them.  We _have_ to do this, for their sake.  But we can't do it without you.  So it you won't do it for yourself, will you do it for them?" 

He kept walking.

            He was almost to the door.

            Ten feet.

            Five.

            Two.

            Stop.


	19. Three Long Days

                                                Soundtrack of My Life-Song #4:

Circling, circling, circling your head 

_Contemplating everything you ever said_

_But now I see the truth without a doubt_

~Trapped

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three Days.  It had been three, long, dark days since I'd woken up.  Three days wondering how badly hurt I really was, three days worrying, despite Dr. Hank's assurances, that I really had been captured by whoever was after me, worrying that I'd wake up to the sight of guns leveled at me once again, and the glitter of calculating eyes shrouded in dark masks.  Three long days…

            Dr. Grey, the female doctor, spoke to me sometimes, but I wasn't really comfortable with her.  I'm not entirely sure why, to tell the truth..  Sure, she seemed nice enough (considering I didn't know a damn thing about her) but I just got this funny vibe from her.  When I'd asked, then pleaded to have the bandages removed from over my eyes, it was she who explained that the sutures surrounding me eyes were at most risk for infection, so they had to be covered until the wounds began to heal over and she could keep them in place with butterfly bandages.  When that happened, she promised that she'd remove them.  I  wanted to trust her.  I didn't.  I can't explain it but when I was around her, I was all embarrassed and self-conscious.  Like I was naked, though still fully clothed.  Like I said, I couldn't explain it, but I just felt odd.

            But she wasn't around too often.  Hank told me she taught classes during the day.  He was still trying convince me that this place was a school.  He told me that it was a private school for children with special abilities, a school for mutant children.  I faked like I was deaf and dumb.  I knew he was waiting for me to open up, to spill the beans about what I was and what I could do and still I said nothing.  The way I figured, the less these people knew about me the better.  True, I partially trusted Dr. Hank, but that was more from necessity than actual belief.  I had no other choices really.  I was too hurt (or lead to believe so) to escape or survive on my own, so I put my faith in him.  I had to have at least one ally in this mess.  Besides, I'd just bide my time until I was well.  Needless to say, it had been a long three days…

            When I woke that morning (at least, I think it was morning) something was different.  I knew it immediately, though it took me a few minutes to figure out what.

            "Hello?" I called out softly after a little while.  Though Dr. Hank assured me that my voice was slowly, but surely getting better, it still hurt to talk too loudly.  My little outburst three days earlier hadn't helped at all either.  But back to that day.

            That was when I realized what was different, when no one answered my call.  The absence of sound seemed strange.  When Dr. Hank was around he usually whistled or had classical music playing softly, accompanied by the rustle of papers or the tapping of computer keys.  When Dr. Grey was in, there was the loud 'click' 'click' of her high heels hitting the floor and sometimes the annoying tapping as she bounced her pen tip against the table or desk or whatever furniture this room actually held.  But that morning none of those subtle noises were there, and nobody responded to my call.  I shifted irritably in my bed.  I'd already become partially accustomed to my limited range of motion, due to the restraints across my chest and both wrists, though I wasn't very pleased about them.  Okay, okay, so I demanded that they be removed and had a minor, _minor_ hissy fit.  I'm sorry, it hadn't been that great a week and I was in a bad mood and I didn't like having control of my life placed in other people's hands.  But Dr. Hank had been fairly good natured about the whole thing, though he did explain (to my utter disappointment) that with the way I apparently thrashed in my sleep and my inability to see, removing the restraints wasn't really an option.  He said there was too great a risk that I'd topple out of bed and hurt myself even more.  And, considering my graceful nature and natural poise (note the sarcasm), it was probably a good idea.  So you can imagine my surprise when my left arm fell off the edge of the bed.

            There was no thinking involved with what I did next.  I was alone, and my arm was free, what do you think I did?  Yep, I took this stroke of luck and decided to make the best of it: I scrambled to remove the bandages from around my eyes.  I fumbled around blindly (no pun intended) before I discovered the clasp, those little metal doohickeys that hold ace bandages in place, on the back of my skull.  After prying that off, the bandages began to fall away on their own, making in far easier to get them off with just one hand.  The brightness of my surroundings changed drastically as layer upon layer of tan wrapping fell to the floor, until finally, with the last remnants of the gauzy material slipping from between my fingers, I was engulfed in an onslaught on light.  Now mind, the room wasn't really all that bright, but seeing as how I'd been in almost total darkness for a week now, it was pretty damn hard on the old peepers.  Gradually, though, my vision cleared and sharpened returned to normal.  What I saw next made me wish it hadn't.  

            I was clad in some kind of hospital gown, my legs bared below the knee.  But judging by what I could see, they almost appeared to be covered in some strange, green/blue fabric.  'Bruises,' I realized after a second.  To go with my new 'pants' my left leg born an extra accessory: a yellowish cast that contained my entire foot and stopped mid-calf.  Bad as my legs were, my arms were worse still.  My left arm, now free and mobile, was raw and red…well, at least the bits that I could see.  Most of both my arms was covered in white dressings though.  Curious, I gingerly peeled back just a little of the wrappings.  What I saw was dozens upon dozens of gashes.  Each had been carefully stitched shut with green medical thread, and each one was oozing at the seams.  I replaced the bandages.  I didn't need to see anymore.  Far worse than any other injury though, was my right hand.  My wrist, fingers, and lower arm were bound in a black brace, completely immobile.  Mt heart hit the floor.  At that moment, despite the how insane it sounds, my only thought was, 'Oh my God!  I'll never pitch again!'  

            But I didn't have time to dwell on that horrifying thought though, nor did I get to look at the part of me which I feared seeing the most (my face) because from beyond the massive silver doors, I heard voices, rapidly approaching.  There was no time to wind my bandages back into place.  So I did the only thing I could think of: I laid back down and turned my head away from the door, squinting my eyes shut tightly.  And stupid as it sounds, it worked.  Exactly three seconds later, chaos bust through the door.

            "What the hell do you mean it's my fault?"

            "Bobby!  Watch your language," came a stern growl

            "-If you hadn't tripped-"

            "Me?  What about you and that pass-"  The cacophony of noise was suddenly interrupted by one voice that I had no trouble recognizing.

            "Alright, everybody freeze!"  It was Dr. Hank, and he sounded pissed.  Right on cue, every noise and every voice in the room fell silent.  Could've heard a pin drop, I swear.  "That's better.  Now, one at a time, what happened?" Hank demanded, slightly calmer this time.

            "Well Peter was…"

            "It vasn't my fault.  Bobby threw…"

            "..But Artie tripped…"

            "I said one at a time!  Never mind.  Bobby, put your head back.  Here, lay down and hold this on your nose," Hank cried over the noise once again.  I was tempted to take a quick peek, but I decided not to risk it.  "You two, and you, wait over there.  You three, on that side…"  But that's when I stopped listening because I felt a slight breeze on my face, and I heard soft footsteps just in front of me.  Before I could stop myself, I cracked one eyelid open.  Curiosity really did kill the cat, and at the rate I was going, it was likely to kill me as well.

            But what I saw wasn't death, or anything abnormal.  In fact, all I saw was a kid.  He was little, couldn't have been a day over ten, with deep brown eyes and glossy auburn hair.  His jeans had grass stains streaked up the side, and his white tee-shirt was wrinkled and speckled with dirt.  He regarded me quizzically while he wiped a trickle of blood out from under his nose with his wrist.  

            I opened one eye all the way to get a clearer look at him.  Then, slowly, I brought my left hand to my lips and motioned 'shhhh'.  What happened next I never would have expected.  Just in front of him appeared a little transparent image, faintly colored, as if projected onto an invisible screen.  Stunned and confused, I realized that the image was actually a little picture of the kid himself, moving back and forth slightly, just an inch from my nose.  Then the image did the strangest thing: it waved at me.  I was just about to throw caution to the wind and speak when…

            "Artie," Dr. Hank called sharply.  The little boy, presumably Artie, yanked his head up and towards the direction of the call.  His concentration broken, the little animated image vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.  "Cut that out.  Come here and let me take a look at your nose."  I could only guess that Dr. Hank was too distracted to notice that I was bandage free.  I breathed a silent sigh of relief as Artie locked eyes with me once more and trotted away.  As he vanished from my view, I let my eyes fall shut once more, thoughts racing through my head.  That kid, he'd done something the likes of which I'd never seen before.  Was he a mutant?  And what was he doing here in the first place?

            "Alright, Bobby, you and Remy get out of here.  Peter, can you help Jones get back up the stairs?  Make sure he keeps that ice on there for a while.  And guys, a little bit of advice: just stick to touch football from now on.  Okay?" Dr. Hank asked them, sounding exasperated.  I listened intently as the voices faded from the room.  They were kid's voices, I realized.  All of them.

            That's when it occurred to me: maybe Dr. Hank had told me the truth.  Maybe, hard as it was to believe, this was a school for mutant children.  I decided to find out once and for all.  I sat up and turned to face the inhabitants of the room.  But what I saw, well…

            "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"         

A/N: Yes, I know I'm cruel.  I also know this is an update much earlier than you expected, so I'll explain.  One: my physics teacher forgot to cross out the columns in his grade book for the two kids who dropped the class.  Consequently, when he filled out mid-quarter progress reports, he was two kids off.  So instead of getting my B, I got the D of the idiot two columns below me.  Fun, huh?  So my computer priveledges have been restored once more.  Two: due to bad weather and the rapidly approaching end of the season, our athletic coordinator canceled several non-conference games that we were supposed to make up, giving us more time to practice and me more time to write!  Yay!  So, in conclusion, sorry about the mix-up 'cause I'm back ;)


	20. Interlude:Zoe's Notebook Page 43

A/N: Beta Sammie been working on some new stuff lately specially designed for this story, so figured I'd get it up now.  Enjoy!

Woes 

My feet fall through the floor

Why can't I find a place to stand?

Have I come this way before?

I can't remember back to then

I'm trapped within these walls

My voice is raised in desperate cry

How can I drift away

When I've got no wings to fly?

Running?  (no positive title yet)

The drumming in my heart

The throbbing in my head

The pulling as I run

Look nowhere but ahead

I've left it all before

Why's this time feel so strange?

There's nothing left for me

But I can't escape my cage

I can't unwind my past

It's lost inside my soul

On my own forever

Let the future take it's toll

Tired Spirit 

My weary mind drifts through

The darkened abyss

Sprinkled with celestial heavens

Ballooned upon the clouds

Rung dry of the anger and the stress of the day

Fanning out below 

Acid rain

Steaming into opaque vapor

In the sweetly perfumed air

My body, serene

Peace filled

Quietly at rest

My mind, alive with determined sparks

Fluttering through the misty maze

Seeking out the hidden path

Masked by the opaque vapor

B/N: (beta's note) All this stuff is mine.  Hope ya like it.  Keep reading!


	21. What The Eyes Can't See

                                                Soundtrack of My Life-Song #5:

"_You don't need to bother_

_I don't need to be_

_I'll keep slipping farther _

_And once I hold on, I won't let go 'till it bleeds"_

~StoneSour

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There are some things in life which we take on faith alone.  Things that don't need a rational explanation because there is none to offer.  We just have to trust in the fact that such things exist and that that is all the proof we need.  But there are also some things which we need to see with our own eyes before we believe they are actually possible.

            Now everyone's capacity for belief and faith and trust is different.  Some can pour themselves into religion, possessing the utmost faith that there is a greater being out there, impossible to see, yet 'visible' in every living thing.  Others are positive that we are not alone in the universe, despite being unable to establish contact.  Everyone draws their 'belief' line in a different place.  Me, I'm a cynic.  And I draw my line at believing in utopian mutant havens that I'm unable to see with my own two eyes…or, at least I did.

            I really should have listened to Dr. Hank when he asked me not to remove my bandages, I really should've.  Because I wasn't ready to receive the first of what would become a series of hard-to-believe shocks in a very short amount of time.

            "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-," I screamed again, but it was cut short as I propelled myself against the wall beside my bed, involuntarily cutting off my air supply.  That's when that…that thing came at me.

            It had been sitting there, it's cruel claws raised, poised as if waiting to gut Artie like a fish.  Picture cookie monster (you know, that cute monster from Sesame Street) only imagine what he would have looked like if Jim Henson had been on crack.  That's what I saw.  Easily stretching six feet tall, it was a comic blue in shade, but that was the only funny thing about it.  It was covered in long, coarse fur, with bulging muscles that put Olympic lifters to shame, and each finger bore a black, crooked claw.  It was a monster, and it was going to kill that kid.  

            I wriggled against the railing of the bed, jarring the IV tube in my arm uncomfortably, but it was better than the death I pictured from those claws.  And that's when _it_ spoke to me  

            "Zoe, take it easy," it growled.  No, that's wrong.  It actually spoke very clearly.  But it kept coming.

            "Keep away from me!" I wheezed.  It raised its hands and took another step towards me.  And that's when the other one showed up.  One minute, there was nothing, and then…

       BAMF!

            BANG! WHUMPH!

"Vat the…Gott in Himmel!"

…then the steel cabinet in the corner went flying, scattering medical equipment everywhere and launching an extra bed into the wall.  And there, in the center of the chaos, was something I could only describe as the living embodiment of the DePaul mascot.

"Vat happened?  Ve heard a scream and then…" it spoke, surprisingly, but to top it all off, he had a accent too.

  My reaction?  Well…

            "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"  That was it!  I flattened myself as far away from both creatures as I could get, which, unfortunately, involved making the necessity of my restraints perfectly clear.  I skittered off the edge of the bed and landed flat on my ass.

            "…Then you decided to make a very untimely entrance?" demanded the original monster.

            I jarred my bad leg against the cold tile, sending a wave of pain flooding through my body as my vision swam in front of me.  As the blurred and darkened shapes danced across my eyes, the voices of my attackers became sharp and loud in my ringing ears.

             "Kurt, get out of here!  She's hysterical," someone ordered.  

BAMF!

There was a faint implosion of air and the clatter of footsteps.  

            "Ohhhhhh," I moaned, as my vision cleared and the faces staring down at me sharpened and gained definition. 

            One was Artie, surprisingly, with a broad, toothy smile on his face.

            The other was our big, blue assailant.  Peering down with worry in his eyes.  Eyes that were hidden behind pince-nez glasses.  

            "Ohhhh," I moaned again, laying my head back flat against the floor.  This was just too much.

            "Well, at least you can't fall any farther from down there," the Muppet from hell said.  That's when I realized it: I knew that voice!  

            "Dr….Dr. Hank?"  He disappeared from my sight, and a second later I felt myself being lifted off the floor in a strong pair of arms.  

            "I thought we told you to keep on the bandages?" he asked condescendingly.  I took that as a yes.  A moment later I was back in the bed, strapped down and settled once more.  Dr. Hank pulled over his usual stool and sat down next to me.  I squirmed a little.  "So, feeling better then, I take it?" he asked.

            It was so weird.  His voice was the same one that had kept me company for almost a week now, clam and gentle and sophisticated.  But, well, he looked nothing like I expected.  But then again, who expects their doctors to be clawed and furry?  I couldn't help feeling like shit, though.  How did that old saying go?  'Judge not lest ye be judged?'  

            "Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded weakly.  He chuckled as Artie appeared by my bedside, a bandage holding his nose up so that it looked liked a pig's.  

            "Tell you what?"

            "That you're…well…"  There was an awkward silence.

            "That I'm a mutant?"  He sounded slightly surprised.  "I told you this was a school for mutants.  I thought you would've put two and two together."

            "Okay, so I'm a little slow.  Besides, I never really thought you were being honest about that.  I…I'm sorry."

            "About what?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

            "About how I reacted.  I…I shouldn't have…"  He chuckled again, and patted my good shoulder good-naturedly.

            "Don't worry about it.  It must have been a pretty big shock.  I'd have been pretty scared myself.  Kurt's little stunt back there didn't help too much either," he said, grabbing Artie by the shoulder and peeling off the Band-Aid.

            "Who's Kurt?  The blue devil," I asked, before noticing that Artie was doing his little thing again, "and what in God's name is he doing?"  Artie had once again created his little projection screen, and on it was a little animated image of the blue devil himself, only he was dancing like that little baby from the Internet (you know, the one they always show on Ally McBeal).

            "Oh, Kurt's a teacher here.  He's also the one who decided to crash this little party," Hank explained, gesturing to the mess in the corner.  I just cocked an eyebrow.  I had no comments prepared whatsoever.  "Oh, he's a teleporter, though his aim is usually better."  Once again, there were no words.  But Artie was doubled over in silent laughter.  Wether or not is was from my expression, or from his own little dancing cartoon I wasn't sure.  Hank turned him around and gave him a gentle push in the direction of the door.  "And you, trouble kid…Go on, get on upstairs and back to that hoarde of yours."  The little projection disappeared as Artie, nose no longer bleeding, skipped out the sliding doors and up the stairs.  

But Dr. Hank never did tell me about Artie.  It would be a little while before he burdened me with that sad story.  For the time being he just focused on patching up the damage my little fall had done.  I was bleeding from where the IV tube had been yanked from my arm, and I'd ripped out some of the stitches in my neck.  He gave me a shot of painkillers for my throbbing leg, but when he tried to apply the bandages back over my eyes, I resisted.

"Not yet," I begged, looking him square in the eye.  "I want to see my face first.  I want to know how bad it is."

"Zoe, now is not the time-," Dr. Hank began, but I cut him off.

"No.  I'm tired of being in the dark.  Let me see and get it over with."  The good doctor threw up his hands in frustration, but I think he could understand where I was coming from.  Rifiling under what was left of the cabinet that blue devil boy had landed on, Hank handed me a small compact.  I presumed it was Jean's.  With my good, free hand I popped the top open.  Slowly, eyes closed tightly,  I raised my hand, leveling it with my face.  I took a deep breath and opened my eyes…

A/N: Hey everybody!  Long time, no see :)  Sorry for the delay in updates.  Been a little busy lately.  Here's the next chappie, with some more in the works.  And I promise that the next chapters will actually advance the plots.  So sit tight, and keep reading… 


	22. Never A Dull Moment

A/N: *Puts on evil big sister/babysitter from hell face* Alright, the next person who whines and complains that I don't update enough (glares accusingly at SomeFan and Wormmon ABC) doesn't get to read the next chapter, which I've posted quickly just for you, got it???? ;) Seriously, thanx for keeping me on task guys. I've been a little sidetracked with finals and regionals and prom (yeah, all my usual excuses) but there's just days left until the school year is over and then…well watch out.

I also wanted to address some things: First of all, Wormmon asked a while a go just how far I had this story planned out. Well, right now it is tentatively planned out to about 40 chapters (though it's looking longer with each passing day). There will be and ending, but I've also had several ideas for sequels (not sure if I'll do one yet though). Zoe is just such a fun character to write as that I don't want to stop. Another question I wanted to answer was is the Struggle a self-insertion fic. The answer is no. Zoe is a based on a combination of different people. For example, her looks are based on those of my gym leader's Amanda. Her personality is similar to my BF's (aka Sammie the beta) and her pitching obsession is a clever parody of my team's three pitchers: Korey, Lisa, and Meghan. Also, I want to say hi to the new reviewers. Welcome to the insanity guys, hope you stick around. Now, on with the chappie! When we last left our heroes…

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Jean rubbed her temples in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure in her head. Unable to focus, she pushed herself away from the desk and the stack of bio labs she was grading, too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to continue. But she didn't have time to rest. Not yet, at least. Feeling cramped and restless, she exited the living quarters she shared with Scott and descended the stairs at a brisk pace. With the same rushed pace, she walked through the empty hallways, finally pausing in the entranceway of the main door. Alone with her thoughts, she sat down the oak bench, richly finished and pushed up against one wall. Her head lolled back against the wall as she allowed herself to close each green eye for a single moment of rest.

The mansion was always crazy. Thinking back to her own days as a student here, Jean couldn't remember a time when things hadn't been hectic. But hey, when you put thirty super-powered teens under one roof, what could you expect? Every day that something didn't blow up or catch fire was a good day. It just seemed that…that things had been even crazier of late. Maybe it was the Professor's prolonged absence, or the sudden lack of time that she and Scott had been able to share. Maybe it was the mansion's newest arrival, or the school year winding down for break. Or maybe it was just the weather, but either way she just felt like she hadn't really slowed down in a long time. 'Maybe that vacation with Scott next month wouldn't be such a bad idea?' she allowed herself to think. 

'But there's a lot that has to happen before that decision can be made,' she chided herself gently. 'There's those papers to grade and I have to get that final test made up. Plus we still have to verify who's going home on break and who's staying and…and I've still got to help Hank with that kid.' 

I hadn't been hard for the telepath to figure out that the school's newest arrival wasn't all that comfortable around her. Even if Zoe wasn't consciously aware of it, on some level the girl's mind knew it was being intruded upon, and it made Zoe uncomfortable. Jean couldn't blame her though. Everyone liked his or her privacy, and she didn't like to snoop. But for the safety of the school and all the people in it, there were certain questions that she had to have the answers to. Certain questions that Hank didn't feel their young patient was ready to answer yet. So Jean had pried, but for the sake of decency, only into the girl's memories receptors, and only when the child slept.

Most people would never be able to grasp the concept of what happened to a telepath when they entered a mind not their own, and most people probably didn't care to find out either. For Jean, each experience was different, simply because every person was different. Zoe's was quite different than she imagined, however. Usually, plunging into a person's head was like falling into a different world. Different parts of the brain resembled different things. Sometimes they were based on favorite places. Others looked just large empty rooms (like Jubilee's did). Scott's consciousness rested in an abandon airplane hanger, for example, probably due to the trauma that the loss of his parents caused him as a kid. Entering the Professor's mind was like stepping into a giant classroom, where ideas scrolled across a giant blackboard. But everyone's was different, and Zoe's was no exception. 

When she entered the teen's mind that morning, Jean was a little puzzled by what she saw as first. Turning in all directions, she scanned the immediate area. Unless she was crazy, it was a library of some kind. One row of walls was lined with windows, bathed in the glow of a sun that never changed positions. The opposite wall was emblazed with a large, black cat, and a logo reading 'Paramount Panthers.' There were wide tables dotted across the open and well-lit room, encircled by row after row of overflowing bookshelves. And seated at one table was a figure, slumped over and asleep with her head resting on her arms. Judging by the blonde hair, Jean figured it was a projection of Zoe's consciousness; just as 'she' was a projection of her own consciousness. The figure slept now because the real Zoe was asleep. 

At first Jean worried that she might have overshot her goal, ended up inside an actual memory. But her senses told her no. It certainly wasn't the strangest mind she'd been in. No, she was certainly in the right place. Curious, she stretched out her hand and ran it along the edge of the nearest bookcase. Finally they came to rest on a dusty volume, green and leather bound, but light as air. She wrenched it off the shelf. The spine bore no title, only the numbers 6.19.00 in gold lettering. Cautiously, Jean slipped a slender finger beneath the cover and flipped it open. There was a sudden rush of darkness and the sensation of being blown about by a strong wind. Her feet no longer met with solid ground, and she felt herself being drawn downward when…

…And suddenly, it was all back to normal. The darkness, the vertigo couldn't have lasted more than a split second, and Jean was used to the sensation by now, but it was still disconcerting if you weren't prepared for it. After giving her stomach a second to catch up with the rest of her organs, Jean opened her eyes and began trying to decipher where she was. The sky above was just beginning to darken, the horizon painted a brilliant orange. She was standing in the backyard of house, nice, middle class dwelling surrounded by a fence. But she couldn't figure out where she was, or even the purpose of this location. Then she heard a noise. 

The clinking of metal on metal as a figure, masked by the shade of the big birch tree to her left, scrambled over the fence. A big dog came bounding out of nowhere, barking at the intruder as it ran past Jean. She was used to that. In memories, she was just the viewer, not the interacted. Her presence was undetected by the by the large Labrador because when he really had barked at that intruded, she hadn't been there. So Jean continued to observe as the dog bounded past her, jumping and barking and leaping at the intruder until suddenly, with a happy "Yip!" the frantic barking ceased. The silhouette of the dog was now sitting on the ground, allowing itself to be stroked and cuddled by the crouched intruder, until the shadow rose and made its way into the light of the fading sun. It took Jean a moment to recognize the face without the bandages and the tubes and the scars. It was Zoe, younger, but definitely her. She paused at the base of the birch tree, as oblivious to Jean's presence as the dog had been. Stooping low to the ground, she gathered a few small dirt clods in her hands, and began tossing them against the windowpane on the second floor.

"Just a sec," came the hushed reply from inside. Zoe stuck her hands in the pockets of her shorts and paced back and forth, anxious to be on her way. 

"Hurry up!" she muttered after a few moments. It must have seemed like forever to the impatient, then eighth-grade version of the girl, but it was probably just a few minutes. Finally, the light in the window upstairs clicked off, and another dark figure could be seen shimming down thee tree, knocking leaves here and there as she went. "Move it Cass!" Zo said again.

As 'Cass' fell to the ground with a dull WUMPH, Jean got a good look at the pair in the rapidly fading light. They were opposite as could be, and yet Jean could see that there was a close bond between them. Silently as the one had emerged, two now fled into the shadows, giggling with mischief hidden in their eyes. Jean watched them go, as the world around her began to fade and bleed and darken, till once more, she was standing in the empty library, open book at her feet. Gingerly, she closed it and replaced it on the shelf. Now that she knew where she was, she had work to do.

Jean recalled that it had taken almost two hours to gather the information she needed. Zoe's memories were well organized, but her storage system had been hard to decipher. But aside from that, the images had been clear and strong and extremely helpful. 

"Worth all the exhaustion they caused," she muttered under her breath as she forced her eyes open. Couldn't afford to be falling asleep yet.

"What was worth it?" a gruff voice asked from around the corner. Logan strolled out of the darkness and joined her on the bench. Jean was glad for the company.

"Nothing, just talking to myself. Why're you here, anyway? Thought you'd be out with the kids?" She'd seen Logan refereeing a mock football game between come of the boys earlier

"Game ended. Someone sat on someone else, who got jumped by the other team, and it just turned into a whole big mess," Logan said, throwing his hands out in front of him in exasperation. "Pulled 'em off one another and sent 'em down to Hank for patching up. Nice having two doctors here again," he concluded. "Did ya hear from Scott yet?" he asked with the usual amount of scorning emphasis on her fiancé's name. But the two could at least put up with on another now. It didn't really matter, as Jean didn't get to respond anyway. There was a telltale rumbling coming from outside which Logan and Jean both knew symbolized the Blackbird's arrival. The pair waited on the outdoor steps as the stealth jet landed on the basketball court, disappearing below as her passengers disembarked. 

Scott's look was not as upbeat as Jean would've hoped, though he was obviously glad to see her. She had a feeling, though, that things were going to get worse before they got better.

Hoping from bare foot to bare foot on the chilly pavement, Jean began to wish that she'd worn slippers. The air of the early evening was chilly through her light tee-shirt, despite it early June. Scott greeted her with a warm embrace and a discreet kiss. His arm fell into its normal location in the crevice beneath Jean's shoulders. 'Its good to have him home,' Jean thought, though he'd only been gone for a single night on his trip to retrieve the Professor. Their bed had been too empty without him.

The couple tore their gaze from one another long enough to make their way inside, Logan and the Professor following, already deep in conversation.

"How's Moria?"

"I wish I could say she was well, but I'm afraid she's worse than ever," the Professor muttered with a sad shake of his head. "The distress is weighing heavily on her. Her son's mental condition is rapidly decreasing. If it doesn't improve, I'll most likely be heading out there again." Logan was a man of few words. His reply was a simple grunt as he closed the formidable door behind them. 

Xavier turned his chair and gently reached out his mind to Jean's in mental greeting. She returned the touch, sending along with it her genuine concern for Dr. McTaggert.

"But we'll worry about that when the time comes. Why don't you fill me in on what I've missed around here." Jean proceeded to tell him about the progress his students had made while she'd taught his classes during his week-long absence. She was glad to explain that the younger class had done very well on their last exam, and that the older class was making good progress…okay, so that they hadn't destroyed anything during chemistry lately. But that was progress for them.

"I think they'll be glad to have you back, though," Jean admitted with some trepidation. "They were actually looking forward to combat training with Logan after my classes ended." 

I'm sure you did wonderful, my dear. Thank you for all your help," the Professor assured her as the sat assembled in the foyer. "I just worry about leaving Moria alone out there. She needs more company, especially given her current situation."

"Everyone here understands that, Professor. You don't have to worry us here. We can take care of ourselves," Scott shifted on the couch next to Jean, speaking with a slight chuckle. Xavier obviously felt guilty for leaving the school, but given his history with Moria, the whole school considered it the only possible course of action. They only person who seemed to need justification was himself. 

"You have no idea how reassuring that thought is, Scott," the Professor concluded with a deep sigh. "Now, what about our latest arrival?"

Right on cue, a scream reverberated up through the floor from the basement, followed quickly by one CRASH…then another.

"Sounds fine to me. Would you like to meet her?" Jean asked, shaking her head slightly. 'Life is never quiet here,' she thought to herself, heading for the basement elevator. 'Never…' 


	23. Empty Promises

A/N:  Hey y'all!  I'm back.  Sorry for the delay, but as many of you noticed FF.net was no accepting new uploads for about two weeks, and then I wasn't happy the chapter I was going to upload, and yada, yada, yada…. But I'm back with a new (if not short) chapter, and expect another one up in a couple of days.  I also need to say some things.  First, for those of you who reviewed during the FF.net's hiatus, I got your reviews and thank you, but they won't show up in the review colloum, so don't panic if you don't see 'em (SomeFan, this means you.  I didn't delete them, in fact I got everyone of them, but the site lost of all of them.  Pleeze don't stop reviewing.  Your persistant comments not only keep me focused, but they're probably the reason this story didn't end at chapter 6.  Thanks a ton, hon!)  Second, a good friend of mine, Entrina, made a Zoe doll for me.  To see what Zo really looks like, go to my profile and click on my homepage.  It'll take you right there.  And check out Entrina's site at www.moon-dust.org to see the rest of her dolls.  They're pretty impressive.  (Thanks KB :)  Now, on with the fic…

The softly playing music startled 646, who was pacing in the darkness, once again lost in thought.  He groped blindly for the cell phone resting on his hip and glowing faintly blue.

            "Hello?"  He was expecting it to be his men checking in after their Sect meeting.  They were still playing the role of double agents, using 646's old contacts to aid in their personal search.  

            "Daddy?"  646 sighed.

            "Hi sweetie.  How was your day?"  It was a good thing no one was here to witness him using the word 'sweetie'.  Normally he wouldn't use that word even in private, but he was late…again, and his guilt was getting the better of him.

            "Oh, it was fine," was the chipper reply.  He couldn't help glowing with pride at the sound of his daughter's voice.  She was such a good kid.  "Listen, I was thinking that maybe I could pick up some frozen pizzas and a movie.  I could pop 'em in when you're on your way home, and we could, ya know, just chill for a bit.  What d'ya think?"  She sounded so hopeful.  It nearly broke his heart.

            "Oh, honey that sounds wonderful…but I'm going to be working late.  Tonight's not really a good night."  There was a long pause.  "You still there, hon?"

            "Yeah, yeah I'm here."  Her voice dripped with disappointment, despite her attempts to conceal it.  He was always working late.  At least, she believed that it was _work._

            "We'll do it some other night."  
            "Yeah…"

            "I promise."  Those words had rapidly lost meaning over the past weeks.  A promise was always hanging on a tomorrow that would never come.  

            "I guess I'll see you when you get home," she mumbled.  Another lie.  646 would creep in at the break of dawn, as usual, and would find her asleep on the couch, the TV flashing softly in the glow of a dawning sun.  

            "Alright sweetie.  I love you," he said, pumping confidence and support into those words.  She had to be strong for just a little longer.  Soon it would all be over.  Soon she would see that he was doing it all for her, for her future.  He waited for a reply.  Silence.  "Sweetie?"  But the only response he got was a dial tone.  

            Miles away, soft cries echoed in a pale room.  The source: a head of soft black curls buried in a ruffled pillow.  Her body shook, wracked with sobs and the pain of a hundred disappointments.  'Why?' the crier wondered.  'Why does it all have to be so hard?  How did I lose it all so fast?'  For the past weeks, they might as well have been strangers, who just happened to live under the same roof.  She never saw him anymore; he didn't care enough to see her!  She sat up suddenly.

            "What did I ever do to deserve this?" she screamed, shaking her hands above her head, demanding answers from above.

            None came.

A/N:  What's this?  646 has a kid?  That nut job reproduced???  Oh my, go review and tell me what you think! ;) 


	24. All In Your Head

A/N: Yeah, I know…long time, little updates.  Been enjoying the first week of summer (actually, been working like a dog, but anyway)  You guys have no idea how long this chapter has been in the works for.  I kinda dug myself into a plot hole that I wasn't too happy with, so I took this chapter to dig my way back out.  It's been written, and re-written about three times, and I still don't think it's very good, but don't worry, I have better stuff  in store for upcoming chapters.  And yeah, I'm not sure what happened with the last chapter.  I guess FF.net ate chapter 23 for a while, but it's up now so take a look.  And go to my homepage and check out Zoe's doll ('cause it's really kewl).  Sidenote-Faith, during the site's hiatus about two weeks ago I read your story, but the review was eaten, so I  just want to tell you that it rocks!  And now on with the show…

                                                            Soundtrack of My Life-Song #6:

"We never walked on the moon 

_And Elvis ain't dead._

_You ain't goin' crazy,_

_It's just all in your head."_

~Diamond Rio

(Long Live Country Music!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have you ever known someone with really bad timing?  Well, I've learned that in this place, it's a quality shared by the entire staff, because before any details could register in my mind, the doors into the med bay (God!  It must be the walk way of the entire house) slid open, and I slammed the compact closed in my fist, shoving it behind my back.  I guess I was afraid of having it confiscated by its rightful owner, at least that's what I told myself when I looked back on the scene.  But, moving on…

            Two people entered the room, one walking and one rolling along in a wheelchair.  I guess they were a little taken aback by the mess, because the woman who entered cocked a long, red eyebrow and her face clearly had that 'what tornado hit here?' look on it.  She whistled under lightly under her breath.   

            "Hank, what happened?"  Hey!  Another familiar voice.

            "The boys, Kurt, and a football game gone horribly wrong, that's what happened," Hank said sounding slightly annoyed by the mess, but unsurprised by the visitors untimely arrival.  The redhead then shifted her scalding gaze to me.  

            "And I thought that we agreed it was best to for her to keep the dressings on for one more week…"  Ah, yes.  It was defiantly Dr. Jean.  Either that or it was an exact clone of her with the ability to duplicate that dangerous tone Jean always got when she was scolding me.  Funny, I'd always pictured her a blonde, but then again, I assumed that Hank was furless, so maybe my sensors were off.

            "We did, last time I checked.  However a certain _someone_ who changed her bandaging last time forgot to put the restraints back on her arms.  And Zoe had some different ideas regarding how long to keep them on."  Oh yeah, Hank was defiantly less than pleased as well.  Man, the two most even tempered people _ever_ and they both decide to go and get bitchy at the exact same time.  Well in Hank's case, it was certainly understandable.  I mean, twelve sweaty guys and a furry blue demon just trashed his med lab.  But Jean…well, maybe she was PMS-ing or something, but whatever it was, it left her extremely short tempered.

            "Wow!  You guys have been spending way too much time together lately," I muttered under my breath.  Hank must have heard me because he shook out of his funk and stopped trying to shoot daggers out of his eyes at Jean, shifting his attention to the other visitor and me.

            "Where are my manners?  Professor, this is Zoe Macintyre," Hank gestured from the man in the wheelchair, back to me, as Jean pushed her way past the overturned bed and into her office.  "Zoe, this is Professor Xavier, founder of the school."  Oh boy, here it comes: 

And it's the rematch of the century: Zoe vs. First impressions, round two.  Ding!

'Grrr!  Shut up, head voice!  Shut up!'  Strangely, as I yelled at the part of my brain that just wouldn't shut up, I noticed a small smile playing over the face of Hank's 'professor'.  

 "It's a pleasure to meet you Zoe," said the professor, wheeling over too me.  There was an uncomfortable silence in the room.  Why was Hank looking at me like that?  Oh yeah, I was supposed to say something.  Uh…um…

"Nice to meet you too."  Alright.  At least this was going better than my first meeting with that Kurt character.  

"Hank, can you come here for a second?" Jean's voice called from within the office.  Hank paused just long enough to give me a look that said, 'I mean it, be nice' before storming off to have what was probably going to be a heated discussion with Jean about who was at fault for not restraining me.  Suddenly, I was alone with this guy…and I had to admit, he gave me a funny feeling.  He kinda emitted this 'trust and comfort' vibe that I've only ever gotten from my granddad.  He wheeled his chair over to my bedside, taking Hank's usual position.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.  So, he wanted to make small talk, huh?  I could handle small talk, I decided.

"Just dandy, but morphine'll do that, ya know."  He chuckled softly.  At lest this Xavier guy had a sense of humor.  Hank was great, but most of my attempts to get a laugh out of him went unnoticed.  He had a rather dry sense of humor.  

"Yes, I've heard that."  I hadn't noticed it until then, but this guy had one major English accent going on.  Strange, considering I was under the impression he's been in New York and running this school for a while now.  And why did I get the feeling that he was dancing around what he really wanted to talk about?  

"So what is it you really want to know?" I finally asked to fill up the growing silence in the room.  Hey, no one ever said that bluntness was a bad quality, and I really didn't have any patience left at that moment in time.  The professor sighed in response, hands folded lightly in his lap.

"Zoe, I know about the situation that occurred at your old school-," he started.  I groaned quietly.  I'd been expecting this discussion for a while, I was just hoping to put it off for as long as humanly…well, mutantly possible.  "-and I know that it must have been terribly difficult for you.  But the details of what happened the night of your accident are still very unclear."  I broke eye contact and found something interesting on the opposite wall to stare at.  I couldn't deal with this right now, damn it!  "Zoe?"  His voice wasn't angry, nor was it mean, but there was a no-nonsense tone to it that penetrated my stupor.

"Yes…"  I responded reluctantly, face still turned away.

"It is of the utmost importance that I know what occurred that night,"

"And I'm going to say this once, I'm not ready to talk about it."

I'm not one of those naive people who believes that difficult issues and horrors from the past can just be locked away and never dealt with.  I've seen enough soap operas (belgh!) to know that that course of action never works.  But I didn't like being vulnerable, and unlocking those stored emotions and memories would make me so.  'Just until I'm stronger, until I'm physically better,' I told myself, knowing full well that I was lying the entire time.  'When I'm stronger, than I'll face 'em, just not now.'  But that was when I learned that the angsty soap opera characters actually have some truth to them.  Because the emotional pain, when combined with typical teenage procrastination, quickly over powered common sense, as I found every excuse to let the past stay buried.  Dr. Hank had tried to get me to discuss what happened several times.  He said it was possible that I was suffering from post-traumatic stress.  Hell, even Dr. Jean brought it up once, trying to get me to confide in her.  'Just a little more time.  Not right now, please.'

            "I know that it isn't easy, reliving that experience, but the sooner you come to grips with what happened, the easier it will be to move on..."

'He's right and you know it!'

            "…And the sooner you tell me what you remember from that night, the better I'll be able to assure your safety from whoever is after you…"

            'God damn it!  Just spill already girl!  Let it all out already!'

            "…Let us help you Zoe.  You won't have to be afraid anymore.  Just let me help you…"

            'Just say it.  You don't want to be afraid anymore, do you?'

            I pushed my palms against my temples, trying to shut out the voice from my bedside and the voice inside my head.  

            "Stop it, just stop it!" I hissed under my breath.  

            "Let me help you…"

            'Let him help you…'

            "No!  Just leave me alone!"

            //_Show me child.  Show me what you're afraid of.//_  

And that was it.  The world shattered apart around me, and up and down and left and right all ceased to make sense.  I was ripped open and twisted inside out.  Burning, and then made numb once more.  And when the insanity stopped…I was there again.

The rain rolled off my face, but I didn't feel it.  The world sparkled black and white around me, highlighted by giant bolts of lightening and played to by a symphony of  thunderclaps.  I watched the figures approach the house, all five of them, creeping silently as shadows.  One passed within a foot of me.  He never looked up.  He was focused on the house, and I was non-existent in his timeline.  I saw the weapons they carried.  I saw the drive in their eyes.  And I saw the face in the third floor, looking down.  

Horror in her eyes.

Eyes not yet lined by the ugly red scars.  

Scars that streaked across a left eye like the claw marks of a tiger.

Tiger eye.

The soldiers moved in, closed in.  They failed to notice the silhouette crouched on the slippery, peaked roof, shuddering and shaking.  I wanted to call out, tell her to hold on.  My voice echoed on deaf ears.  She leapt into the night, and I squeezed my eyes shut tight.  I knew she would land okay, but part of me couldn't watch it without being sick.  A cry went up.

The soldiers moved.  The figure moved.  Two paths, trying to pull apart, destined to crash together.  Crash!

They closed in.

Her feet flew out beneath her.

They charged.

She dangled.

And I was forced to watch it all again.  There was a hand on my shoulder.  Someone touched me.  Someone saw me!  I whirled.  

"Shhh," commanded my companion through the darkness.  "Try to relax, my dear.  I just need to see," I was told.  There was an accent to that voice, I realized.  I strained to see a face through the darkness.  The Professor, he was the one who'd done this!  And he was right here with me but…something was wrong.  He was standing, I noticed, taller than me in the cool night air.  There was no wheelchair in sight.  

I was crazy.

That was it, this was just the madness taking control.

I wasn't really here, neither was he.

Just figments of a diluted imagination.    

I saw it all once again.  I stood there, completely intangible, yet very much there and as real as the first time.  The second time around was worse.  I had to watch, _knowing_ what was coming.  Every time I saw hope play across that girl's unrecognizable face, I wanted to scream 'How can you possibly think that it's all going to turn out alright?'  I watched her dangling off the roof, and I felt my own stomach lurch.

"No!" I screamed again and again.  "No!  No! Nononono!"  I pushed my palms against my temples, trying to force the images from my head.  I didn't want to see them anymore.  "Stop it!"  And the images froze, like someone had hit the universal pause button and time had simply stopped.  The scene before me faded, graying at the edges and slipping further into darkness…'till…it…was…gone, and we were alone once more.  Only I was now standing in a place I never thought I'd see again.  

"This…this looks the my old…but it can't be…"  I spun in disbelief.  "This looks just like the school library."

            "The shape of the subconscious surprises even the best of us," he explained, explaining nothing.  He was sitting at a library table, like some over-aged student.  It would have actually been kind of funny if I hadn't been so distraught.  One minute I was stuck in my own past, watching the worst moments of my life flash before my eyes, then suddenly I was inside the library of a school I'd left behind almost a month ago.  Then something the Professor had said clicked.

            "Subconscious?  Where the hell are we?" I demanded, my voice echoing in the empty library.  The sunlight streaming through the windows suddenly dimmed as I quickly closed the distance between us.  

            "We're inside your mind, child," he told me, as if the answer was quite obvious and normal.  A clap of thunder reverberated for beyond the windows.

            "My mind?"  I seemed to be unable to form a coherent sentence, so I just started repeating whatever he said.  

            "Yes.  We are within the very core of your subconscious.  Everything in here is a direct reflection of you," Xavier explained, looking as calm as if he had been explaining that the sum of two and two is four.  This all seemed to make perfect sense to him.  "For example, the weather seems to be mirroring your frustration."  There was another giant bolt of lightening and clap of thunder as he spoke.  Frustration seemed like a poor description of the emotion I was feeling right now.

            "And…how exactly did we _get_ inside my head?" I questioned through gritted teeth.  Most people would have assumed that that was a sign of nerves or fear, but anyone who knew me knew that when I spoke like that it was because I could barely contain my rage.

            "I brought us here, telepathically."  More calm explanations.  I stopped as I reached his table.  I was seriously tired of being screwed with.  "It is my gift, as how what you did with the generator at your school is yours."  Yeah, my gift is to cause massacres …

            "And what makes you think that you can just leap into my head?" I demanded.  "Just go in and have a look at whatever you want?  What the hell do you think you're doing?!?!"  That was the ending of any sane-well, as sane as you can be having a conversation with someone inside your own head-attempt at conversation.  See, 'cause that's when I learned that inside your own mind, you pretty much control everything.   Like how at that moment, enraged and sick of the pleasant expression on the professor's mug, I really wanted my bat.  My fingers were just itching for it…and then in was there, sitting on the edge of the table and waiting for me.  

            I cannot be held accountable for what happened next, because it's not a good thing to live in a world where you get everything you want.  In fact, it's a very bad thing.  But I picked up that bat, still seeing red, and took a good swing at the professor.  And let me tell you he got out of his chair _very_ fast.  Mind you, I missed by a mile, but that still got him moving.

            "Zoe, listen.  I know that was upsetting, what you just saw," he said in an irritatingly calm voice, holding his hands out to fend me off as he quickly backed away.  He could move pretty fast for an old man.  I took another swing for good measure.

            "Get out!"  Swing!  "Get the hell out of my head!"  I reared back to swing again when it all fell apart.  The world around me crumpled beneath my feet an fell and spun away as I was pummeled from every direction, flailing through the darkness around me…

The world made sense once again.  I was still in the bed.  The cast was back, and the brace…and the scars.  The anger was still there, but it had dissipated slightly.  The professor was here again too.  Back in his chair, confined just as I was.  That thought quelled my anger a little more as well.  He looked and me and I at him, and it seemed as though after what had just transpired neither of us knew what to say.

"I'm sorry to have infringed on your privacy, my dear.  I know how difficult that must have been for you.  But for your own protection I needed to gather as much information as possible about who you're running from."  There was a raw sincerity in his voice that touched me.  I told you before that I had a quick temper.  I guess it's even harder to keep in check inside my own head.  I need a telepathic warning label.

"I wasn't really going to hit you, ya know," I muttered, embarrassed at my rash behavior.  "It's just that…you caught me off guard.  I like my privacy and I don't like being jerked around."  Oh yeah.  Like I said, first impressions and me don't go well.  Scream at the man who saved my life, chase around the guy who found me with a bat.  I'm on a roll! (note the sarcasm).  Considering everything that had just transpired, you can imagine how what the professor said next caught me way off guard:    

"I'd like to invite you to stay here, with us.  To attend the school and receive training," he said.  You're probably thinking that I'm nuts, but I swear to God that in all the time that I'd been there, at the school, I'd never once thought that staying there was in my future.  In fact, I hadn't really thought about my future at all past getting better.  For the first time in my life I was just taking things one day at a time.  But my answer required no thought at all.

            "I…well, thanks for the offer, but I can't."  Xavier was clearly expecting my answer about as much as I was expecting his question.  

            "And why's that my dear?"  I snorted.  It was rather rude, but well, I thought the answer was pretty obvious.

            "Didn't you just spend twenty minutes watching what happened that night?" I demanded.  "I have a group full of psychopathic masked freaks chasing me.  I'm 17, and I already have eight lives to my name.  There's enough blood on my hands without adding that of your students to the mix," I muttered

            "You lost control.  It happens to everybody, believe me.  That's why there here…and why you should be too," Xavier explained slowly.  He was trying to sound comforting, but I wasn't really in the mood to be comforted then.  "As for those men pursuing you, I can offer you the best protection possible within theses walls."  I just shook my head.  

"You misunderstood me.  Look, what you're doing here, it's a great thing.  Giving these kids a place to go, an education.  That's amazing…and I don't want to be responsible for ruining it.  I have no idea what these people are capable of, or how many there are," I muttered, shaking my head forlornly.  "But if they've followed me or tracked me down then I may just lead everyone here into the same trouble I'm in.  I don't want that on my conscience."  My hands gripped into fists convulsively…well., at least my good hand did.  "I couldn't live with that."  There was a silence in the room when I was done speaking.  It grew uncomfortably until I finally looked up just to make sure that Xavier was still in the room.  He was, and he looked me square in the eye when I turned my head, and smiled slightly.

"What?!" I demanded, starting to feel highly uncomfortable again.

"That's a very noble thing to say."

"So?"  What did that have to do with anything?

"And your actions that night clearly demonstrated your bravery as well," Xavier spoke, still staring at me with his haunting gaze.

"What's that got to do with anything?"  I was quickly losing patience with his random topics…flattering though some of them may be.

"So aren't you tired of being afraid?"  His words carried a double meaning as I felt him brush against my mind and stir up the memories of being locked in that police department after the accident at school and leaving behind the only home I've ever known; being afraid for my family and friends and for myself…of myself.  

'Yeah, you are aren't you?' I asked myself.  It was with a grudging feeling that I realized I was.  

"Yeah…I am," I said after a thought felt pause.  "That feeling gets old pretty quick."  I felt my own smile emerge a little, and I realized why the professor had been grinning.  He knew he had me, damn him!  He knew he was going to get me to stick around here.

"Than let me, let us help you gain control.  Stay, and study in the safety we offer here," his eyes gleamed with mischief worthy of someone half his age as the Professor offered me his hand, as if to close a deal.  

"Might as well," I muttered in a voice dripping with sarcasm.  "Got no place else to go."  I gripped the Professor's hand in a strong handshake, and smiled a little to take the sting out of my words.  Still…there was one question I couldn't resist asking:

"So, you guys have a softball team?"

"I'm afraid not."  I sighed and released his hand.

"Jesus, what did I just get myself into?" I cried.


	25. The Grand Tour

                                                            The Soundtrack Of My life-Song #7:

_"And if I make it through today,_

_will tomorrow be the same?_

_Am I just running in place?_

_If I stumble and I fall, should I get up and carry on,_

_Or will it all just be the same?"_

_~Good Charlotte_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dr. Hank, I'm telling you, there is no way in hell that I can do this!"

            "Zoe…" he warned.  Dr. Hank wasn't too fond of my rather 'loose' mouth.  What can I say, neither was my mother, but old habits die hard.

            "Sorry, let me rephrase that," I muttered sarcastically, "there is no way in _heck_ I can do this."  I got the evil doctor eye, which usually was enough to shut me up, but I wasn't feeling very amenable today.  "Look, just help me up?" I pleaded.  For a minute I thought Dr. Hank was going to yank me up by the scruff of my neck.  Not that anyone would have blamed him.  I certainly wouldn't have.  Having to care for a bored, crabby, and pain-racked teenager locked in one bed, in one room, for three weeks is not exactly anyone's idea of a picnic.  And being that teenager certainly wasn't my dream come true.  I'd been pretty moody the last few days, and I'd taken out my frustration on the poor doctor.  

But instead of breaking my neck in two, he wrapped his arms underneath my shoulders, and heaved me back to my feet.  Why was I on the floor once again, you may ask?  Well, because hellish as they'd been, three weeks had come and gone, and the good doctors had finally decided it was time to get me up and moving again.  How?  With the aid of some crutches…yep, that's right: crutches.  Me, miss grace and poise and balance, trying to maneuver on a bum leg by hobbling around on two sticks.  Please note my sarcasm.

            "Complaints are not going to help you get up and about any faster," Hank chided, handing me the left crutch.  I growled and considered swinging it at his head, but it would've required too much effort.

            "Yes, well it would be much easier to accomplish 'getting up and about' if the floor stopped moving underneath my feet!"  I slammed the foot of one crutch down in anger, and wobbled dangerously.  The only response got an arched, blue eyebrow and a suspicious glance.  "It's sarcasm, Doc,  I do that sometimes."  

            "Well, if you really feel that you're not ready yet, I could always recommend a few more weeks of bed rest…"

            "God no!"  That got me moving.  One more day in this overly bright, overly sterile, and overly white room and I might just go nuts…well, more nuts than I was already.  "Nothing personal, Dr. Hank, but I'm dealing with a major case of cabin fever right now.  If I don't get out of here soon, I might just explode."

            I was doing laps around the spacious area, dodging equipment and stray beds, trying to see if I'd be able to stay on my feet in public without embarrassing myself.  I was actually waiting for Jean, who was supposed to come get me for the grand tour of the school.  It was weird being around her, especially now that I knew what the school's other doctor was capable of.  Although she'd assured me up and down that she didn't go spy or go into people's heads without their permission, I still couldn't help but think about what'd I'd do in her position.  I certainly wouldn't be that…virtuous, and part of me had trouble believing that she could be either.  Which is why I stopped thinking that way when she showed up.

"Hey there.  Good to see you up and about Zo.  You look much better."  Did I mention that Jean was always far, _far_ too perky?

            "Um…thanks?"  Personally, I think she was just going to be happy to have me out of her office, but like I said, who wouldn't be?

            "Ready to go?" she asked, getting herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter and gesturing towards the door.  I had waited three long weeks for this moment, but now that it was here I had to tell ya, I was a little nervous.  So naturally I said,

            "You kidding?  I was born ready."  Me and my big mouth!

            "There are two classes here at the institute," Jean explained, walking quickly.  I scrambled to keep up with her, stumbling frequently.  "We currently have thirteen students in the lower class, ranging from ages 10 to 14.  There are ten students from ages 15 to 18 in the upper class.  You'll be the eleventh."  Let me set the scene. 

 Jean was giving me the grand tour like some deranged museum reject, and I was trailing behind, tripping on a pair of borrowed blue jeans that were too big for me.  After the all coolness of the metallic furnishings and high tech whoosits and circular elevators in the sub-basement (where the med lab is, I guess) I had to tell you, the upstairs was a big disappointment.  There was way too much oak paneling, way too many antiques, and the whole house smelled of Pledge.  Then I reminded myself that I could be lying dead in a ditch right now, and that made the whole situation seem loads better.

            "Yippee," I said with mock joy in response to Jean explanation.  Jean stopped suddenly, and turned, making me skid to avoid running her over.  At first I though she was going to chew me out for being a smart-alec, but instead she pointed into a room through a pair of open double doors.  

            "That's the dinning room.  Breakfast is at 6:00 every morning, lunch at 12:30, and dinner 7:00.  Be prompt, alright."  She glared at me.  Hey, it was my balance that sucked, not my punctuality!  And my timing was especially good when it came to eating.

            "Prompt, gotcha," I assured her.  Man, could I have formed more incomplete sentences?  I didn't have time to wonder, though, because Jean was hell-bent on moving on and doing it quickly.  

            "The library's down there, and there's a second, smaller study upstairs, just down from the dormitories.  Every student has computer privileges, and you'll get a student e-mail account as soon as I have a second to sit down and register you."  She stopped suddenly once again, though this time it was in front of a blank wall.  I gave her a cocked-eyebrow glance that clearly said 'okay, nice wall.  Now what?'  Jean smiled and pushed a small, brown button that was barely distinguishable from the paneling behind it.  A door slid open an inch from my nose to reveal yet another elevator, this one bigger than the last.

            "This one doesn't have access to the lower levels, just the three floors above ground.  You'll be using this a lot," she explained, gesturing for me to get on.  I was too amazed at seeing an elevator emerge from nowhere to argue, for once.  Jean continued talking even as we traveled upwards.  "The dormitories are all on the second floor.  Each student has a roommate, though no always from the same class."  The elevator screeched to a halt and Jean exited, with me in tow once more.  

            We were at the end of a long hallway (the place seemed to be entirely composed of daunting corridors) with a bust of some unknown composer in the opposite corner.  We passed a room with long windows and a pool table in it.  A room full of musical instruments.  I could hear tunes drifting through the walls, but the player wasn't visible through the small square pane in the formidable oak door.  We continued on, drifting from one passage to the next, getting me completely lost.  Finally, we seemed to make it to the hall that Jean was looking for, because she paused at a series closely spaced, shut doors.

            "These are the dormitories for the students.  The teachers are on the third floor if you need one of us."  I looked over her shoulder and then behind me, trying to identify a land mark that would get me back here.  At one end was what appeared to be a lounge.  I could just make out a TV in the brightly lit room.  At the other end was a small landing, met by a wide, sweeping staircase.  That would probably be helpful marker to remember.  I noted the hall that Jean and I had emerged from, meeting the dorm corridor at a 'T' intersection.  Even as I imprinted this info in my brain, I couldn't help but thinking, 'damn, I am going to get so lost in this joint!'

            "Don't worry, you'll get your bearings fast around here.  The other kids will help you out," Jean assured me.  I was about ask how she knew that I was worried about getting lost if she wasn't peeking into my head, when she tapped her temple.  "You're thinking rather loudly, dear."  Well, that explains that!  Back to the matter at hand…

            Jean stopped three doors from the lounge, on the right hand side of the hall, and gestured to a non-descript, shut door.  It opened by itself (or rather by the power of Jean's thoughts *shudder*) and Jean walked inside, beckoning me to follow.         

            The room I entered was simple as far as rooms went.  The walls were a pale blue, and two of them were covered in various posters.  The floor was a hardwood of the same shade as the hall outside, only with a circular rug in the center and ringed by simple, Ikea-ish furniture.  There were two modern beds along one wall, with loopy, metallic headboards and fames, and separated by a night table in between.  Two dressers sat adjacent to each bed, and two desks opposite each bed, all in the same classic oak.  Opposite the door, full length windows covered almost the entire wall, offering a spectacular view of the lush forest preserve ringing the mansion's property.

            "Welcome home?" Jean asked cheerily, scanning my face for a reaction.  I gave her a lukewarm smile.

            "Welcome home," I muttered in false perkiness.  Placing the feet of my crutches carefully on the shiny floor, I made my way inside.  Jean mentally 'picked up' a box that had been sitting on the floor just outside the door, and it floated into the room, coming to rest on the bed closest to the door.  The only bed in the room that seemed to be occupied, I noted.  In fact, the dresser and desk by the door were both covered in random stuff.  "I guess I've got the window seat," I said.  The bed…my bed, was sitting bare, though someone had left a set of sheets and a dark-blue comforter at the foot of the mattress.  But even as I looked on, the sheets began unfolding themselves and assembling on the bed.

            "Seeing as how you're hurt," Jean said from behind me, reminding me that she was still there, "I'll give you a hand."  She pointed absently to the box she'd moved earlier.  "That's all the stuff we recovered from your car.  Everything that was salvageable."  My heart sank.  Everything that'd I brought…and all that was left fit into that box.  "This weekend we'll go shopping and get you set up with anything else you might need."

            "I'm a pretty lousy shopper," I mumbled, absently digging through the box.  There were some pretty slim pickings in there.

            "Well, we'll bring Jubilee along and let her help then."  I was about to risk looking stupid and ask what a 'Jubilee' was, when the sheets settled and Jean headed back out the door.  "You can unpack later.  Right now we need to finish the tour.  I have a class to teach in 45 minutes."  Ah, well that explained why she was rushing about.  I was eager to dig through my ravaged belongings, but reluctantly followed.  "That reminds me, you'll be rooming with Audrey Carmichael.  She can help you get settled when we're done."  The funny thing was that, though Jean's voice was steady and clam and perky as always, her eyes clearly said 'fat chance of that happening.'  I had a feeling rooming with this Audrey kid wasn't going to be my idea of a picnic.     

We headed back downstairs (I still couldn't remember how to get back to the elevator) and into another wing of the school.  Jean gave me a quick run through of where all the classrooms were.  

"Aside from the normal classes, students also take combat and defense classes.  The older students train in a simulator called the 'Danger Room' as well."  I blanched at that statement.  Oh yeah, Danger Room sounded like a real party.  I was massively relieved by what she said next.  "You'll be sitting those out for a while, but you'll be seeing Hank three times a week for physical therapy."  Okay, PT…I could handle that.  "Also," Jean went on, "you'll be meeting with Ororo Munroe, another teacher here, for control training over your abilities on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the mornings."  Great, let's bring up that issue again.

Can I let you in on a little secret?  Sure I can, you're not telling anybody.  See, when the Professor mention training to control my abilities weeks ago, it brought something to my attention: I hadn't had a single incident since arriving…and I'd been through a lot of stress, which usually sets my powers off.  But nothing had happened.  Zilch, zippo, nadda.  Not one burned out light bulb, not one blown fuse, and not a single outlet gone haywire.  Before this whole mess started, when I was still back home and trying to hide my powers, those little things had kinda become my calling cards.  Where ever I went, those problems seemed to follow.  I thought that maybe this meant I'd finally gained control over my abilities, but the euphoria from that idea was short lived  'Cause I tried everything to make this damn light in the med lab flicker, but once again, nothing.  

I was actually starting to believe that maybe I'd never had powers at all, that those incidents had just been some freak accidents.  But even worse was the fear that, if the Professor or Jean found out I didn't have my powers anymore, they'd throw me out.  I guess that's just life being ironic once again, eh?  I mean, three months ago I'd have given anything to make my abilities go away.  And now, I was just praying for a sign that they still existed.  Jean's statement just made the worry in my chest swell that much more.  Which is why I was lost in thought and almost ran her down when we stopped once again.    

She had paused next to one particular classroom.  I couldn't hear any noises from within but I got the perception that there was someone inside.  Jean pointed to a chair across the hall.

"Just hang out here for a second, will you?  I have to have a quick word with Scott.  I'll only be five minutes, I promise."  She didn't wait for a reply before venturing inside.  Personally, I was grateful for the break.  My feet were killing me.     

A/N: Yeah!  Update!  And hang on, 'cause the next chapter will be up tomorrow, and you'll be meeting the students of Xavier's School…well, at least some of them…but who? (*evil grin*)    


	26. Life Lessons Taught By a Kat

                                                            Soundtrack Of My Life-Song #8:

_"It's times like these,_

_You learn to live again._

_It's times like these, _

_You give and give again."_

~Foo Fighters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later Jean was still in the classroom and, after getting sick of waiting for what Jean considered 'five' minutes, I had ended up bored, lost, and stuck halfway up a flight of stairs.  Yes, that's right, up a flight of stairs.  What can I say, I forgot where the elevator was (I told her I'd end up lost!), but unpacking seemed like a good way to spend my time.  Just one problem: my room was upstairs, and I was downstairs.  Therefore, to get from point A to point B, I'd either have to sprout wings (which probably would have been the smarter of the two options) or climb the massive, winding, oak staircase.  But c'mon, look at my hair color*, and then tell me which option you thought I'd choose.  

            Anyways, getting up was harder than it seemed (first person who says 'duh', dies painfully).  At first I thought I'd just go up on the crutches, which was a logical and functional idea except for one problem: it didn't work.  I wasn't tall enough to get the crutches onto the next step while still keeping them under my arms.  Which meant I needed a new idea.  And that turned out to be throwing the crutches up to the top of the stairs, and dragging myself up by the banister (well, actually using it for balance and hopping up the stairs on one foot, but you get the idea).  Strangely enough, it worked too…at least, it did 'till I got halfway up the stairs.  See, I forgot to factor a few little things into the formation of this new plan.  Like shiny, oak floors…and my natural grace and balance (not!).  So when my good foot slipped,  I ended up clinging onto  the banister for dear life, trying not to slide all

          the

            way 

               back

                 down on my stomach.  I considered shouting for help, but I had no desire to ruin more first impressions by looking like a crippled buffoon.  So I just hung there, trying to get my good foot back under me and having little success on the slick, wooden floor.  And while hanging there for all eternity didn't seem like a bad plan at the start, ten minutes later my savage hand cramp started to get to me.  Things went downhill rapidly from that point on (no pun intended) because moments later, my sweaty palm slid off the banister.  'Great,' I thought bitterly, 'I survive jumping off and roof and totaling my car, just so I can die by falling down a flight of stairs."  I felt gravity take hold and I began falling backwards…

            "Oh-," my exclamation…okay, my cussing, was cut short when my downward progress was suddenly stopped.  I'd only gotten about a single stair down, when someone latched onto my shoulder.  Unceremoniously, whoever it was (I was expecting to hear Jean chewing my out any second) hauled me to my good foot, and wrapped my arm about their shoulder.  Stable and no longer terrified of becoming a human pancake, I  tossed the hair out of my eyes and chanced a glance at my savior.  A pair of red eyes and toothy grin glanced back.

            "You be wantin' a hand der, chere?" he, for the person was obviously a guy (damn!  A fine one at that too!) asked me.  I nodded, and we began what was something I could only compare to a seriously messed up three legged race, only going up and not out.  He'd go up a step, I'd grab his shoulder and hop after…then again…and again…until finally, tired and sweating profusely, I made it to the second story.  The guy looked on as I began gathering my crutches and composing myself again.

            "Thanks for the help," I muttered, pulling one crutch towards me.

            "Don't tink notin' of it," he replied.  Then after several seconds of silence, "you da new girl?" he asked.  He had a thick accent like my old neighbor lady who moved up from Louisiana and smelled like cats (although this kid smelled more like bourbon than felines…)  

            "You ever seen me around here before?"  Yeah, me, smart ass comment.  What else is new?  Once again, just killing this first impression.

            "No, Remy can't say dat he has."  
            "Well then I guess I'm the new girl," I know you're probably thinking that I need a serious attitude adjustment at this point in time, I mean, this guy just saved my ass, but let me describe the scene for you.  I was now standing there, still balancing precariously on my retrieved crutches, trying to have a conversation with my life-saver.  He, on the other hand, was standing there, cool as you please, trying to have a conversation with my breasts! 

            "Uh-huh!  Remy startin' to like dis school.  All des foxy ladies runnin' round da place," he muttered, either unaware that I could still hear him, or simply not caring.  Either way, I was done with this conversation…he was still trying to talk to my chest.  I considered shouting "they won't talk back!" at the top of my lungs, but decided that leaving was a better option here.

            "Asshole," I muttered under my breath, turning to go.  Big mistake, because no longer occupied with the twins, this 'Remy' kid found something new to look at.

            "Don't you go talkin' bout Remy's ass, not when you be totin' dat fine piece o' meat dere," he ogled.

            "You did NOT just say that-," I started to yell, contemplating weather a crutch to this guy's groin would hurt more than one to the nose, when we were interrupted from behind.  Behind, as in, from through a wall, because that's where this new girl suddenly appeared from: through a wall.  Your jaws not dropping yet?  Well, maybe you didn't hear me right.  THROUGH…A…WALL!  
            "God Remy, you are such a perv," the new chick interjected, as if emerging from solid sheetrock was no biggie.  Then she turned to me, "don't worry, you get used to his dumbass comments eventually," she explained.  The moment she said 'ass' though, the Remy character opened his mouth speak, but-

*SNAP!*

 Ghost-girl snapped her fingers at him over her shoulder, pointing dangerously and making me wonder if she could see out of the back of her head as well as causing me to doubt the safety of a bank vault.

            "Remy, one comment about my ass and I'll kill you while you sleep!" she exclaimed.  I anticipated some more words being exchanged, but the Cajun kid simply bowed his head slightly, as if tipping an invisible hat, and strolled back down the hall, whistling with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.  Yes, that's right, whistling.

            "I've been committed, that's it.  The doctors lied to me and I'm really in the nuthouse…" I rambled under my breath.  Wall girl seemed highly undisturbed by my reaction (probably 'cause, living in a nuthouse and all, she's used to this behavior) and just stuck out her hand.

            "Nice ta' meet ya'.  I'm Kitty," she said perkily.

            "As in cat?"  Just strike me dead now, and put me out of my social misery, will you?  However, Kitty seemed unperturbed once again.  She nodded vigorously.

            "Yup. And your name is…?"  
            "Oh, I'm Zoe," I said, finally accepting her handshake.  "I'm the new kid."  
            "Yeah, I know. One thing you learn around here is that news travels fast," she said as I began to walk down the hall. She turned, walking backwards, and kept pace with my gimped gait.

            "News.  How can I be news?" I demanded.  "I just left the med lab an hour ago.  You and devil-eyes back there are the first people I've seen."  Apparently Kit-Kat or whatever she called herself found this all funny, because a flush spread across her cheeks, and she looked as if she was going to choke on her giggles.

            "Yeah well just because Artie doesn't talk doesn't mean he can't tell tall tales.  Plus when you live in a school full of mind readers…" she trailed off figuring she's made her point.  She had.

            "I need a Master Smith lock for my brain," I declared loudly.  "So what do I _really_ need to know about going to school here?" I asked, hoping she'd provide more realistic insight than the teachers had.

            "Jean gave you the tour and her schpeel?"

            "Yup."

            "Right, now first things first: forget everything she said," Kitty began, still walking backwards.  In fact she was about to walk into this little decorative table along the wall.  I open my mouth to say something, but she just passed right through the table and grinned sheepishly.  "Now…what else…Okay, here we go," she stopped and pointed at two doors in turn.

"Small explosions from that room…and that one are perfectly normal."  I nodded.  "There are no twins, triplets, etc. here at the school," she continued, "so any multiples you see are clones.  Don't call Bobby Ice-jerk, Ice-pick, or Popsicle unless you have a serious desire to know how a snowman sees the world.  And, for all our sakes, do not get Paige started on the subject of the Dixie Chicks, okay?"

"Alright…"  I was starting to get a little freaked, but Kitty was on a roll now.  

"Don't get between Sam and his first cup of coffee.  Don't_ give_ Jubilee coffee…or anything with caffeine in it for that matter…no sugar either."  Ah, so this shopping 'Jubilee' is a person.  "Don't bolt your door closed, because someone will always try to get in, and they either end up shredding it, burning it, ripping through it, or kinetically yanking it off, kay?"  As Kitty came up for air, I took the chance to nod emphatically.  

"Don't use the school's computers to hack into anything illegal-I speak from experience on that matter," she muttered darkly.  "Peter never has, and never will understand American sports, so don't even bother trying to explain them.  Oh, and never ever,  EVER engage in a pick-up game of any kind.  They always result in trips to the med lab."

"Already figured that one out," I mumbled, remembering the results of a certain football game.

"Don't get between Scott and his cars, Jean and her Scott, or Logan and the Heinekens he hides in the billiard room.  Never _tell_ Scott that Logan hides Heinekens in the billiard room.  And don't even mention the word Heineken around Remy."  'Why does that not surprise me?' I wondered.  

"Here's a big one: never bring anything flammable near Jubilee's hands, Sam's butt, or John's…well, or John, period."  She paused once again for breath.  "Alright, this is important: the shower-order is God around here.  Never take someone else's shower time, which sucks for you.  Being new and all, you'll probably be second-to-last on the list."

"Second-to-last?" I asked, my eyes practically spinning in opposite directions from information overload.  

"Yeah, well Bobby doesn't need hot water at all, so he's last by default."

"Ah, of course," I agreed, nodding like I understood, but absolutely lost.

Kitty continued,

"There are no set times as to when someone can watch TV, but I got news for ya, if you shut off the VCR when Marie is recording Gilmore's Creek, or whatever the hell it is she watches, you'll find yourself hanging out of a third story window by your ankles the next day.  I'm not kidding, it took us almost two hours to find Paige that one time…" Kitty trailed off and I waited…but she didn't start up again.  "I think that's it," she muttered, glancing around as if she might find some forgotten information scattered on the floor.

"Thank God!" I sighed.  "You know I don't know _any_ of the people you mentioned, right?"

"Yeah, well classes are almost over for the day, so you'll meet 'em all soon."  Then, in one fluid motion, she smacked herself upside the head.  Hard.  "I almost forgot the most important rule: don't piss off Audrey."  I groaned.

"As in my new roommate, Audrey?"  Kitty turned a vibrant shade of purple.  

"Yes…well, what I meant was…-," she stammered, embarrassed.  

"You know, you're the second person who's said something like that to me," I explained while Kitty continued to choke on her words.  She hadn't seemed to notice that I didn't care how much she insulted the roommate I had yet to meet.  "So, what's so bad about rooming with this Audrey chick?  I mean, how bad can she be?" I asked, hobbling next to this cat-girl.  It was getting difficult to maneuver as more and more people appeared in the narrow hallway.  We stopped just outside what I assumed was Kitty's room. 

            "Well, it's just that Audrey can be a little-," Kitty began when a voice reverberated down the hall, making the very windows rattle in their frames.  A voice coming from my new room.

            **"WHO THE HELL DROPPED THEIR SHIT ON MY BED?!?"**

            "-er, difficult."   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Zoe's blonde, but so am I.  Therefore I'm allowed to poke fun at blondes.  But seriously, I love blondes.  One day we will rule the world.  Long Live Blondes!

 A/N: Hiya guys!  This chapter was amazingly fun to write, and it made me realize how much I love working on this story.  I've been waiting to integrate the X-Kids into The Struggle, and this chapter really lived up to my expectations.  So I want to take this time to thank all the reviewers and readers who offered their opinions, advice, ideas, and support, and kept this story running for almost six months.  Thanks to:

Silvinisy, Daydream, Munsje, Saymir-Shadowfox, hnh, Tigereyes, Faith, isobel*lvr, Noelle, Taynna, Moon*Child, WildWolvie, Rhapsody In The Night, Wormmon ABC, Carrie, AngstWolf, Rikku oh Ki, Gothica Faerie, Soccergoalie20, Buckster, Tiger Lily, BLAZE, Zero, Lexani, Nightcrawler, Annon, The Pebble, JB, and SomeFan 

Love ya bunches, guys!  Keep Reading! :)

                   ~Stretch


	27. BAMFing & Entering

                                                            Soundtrack Of My Life-Song #9:

_"I feel my world shake,_

_Like an earthquake._

_Hard to see clear._

_Is it me, or is it fear?_

_I'm madly in anger with you…"_

~Metallica

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About three years ago…yeah, that's it, the summer before I entered high school, Cassidy and I spent a week at the University of Michigan softball camp.  Naturally we shared a dorm room together, and as much as I love the girl let me tell you this: it was hell on earth.  See, Cassidy has some…er, foot odor…issues, if you will.  And after spending twelve hours a day running around in the same pair of cleats…well, it was just bad.  I thought that after surviving that week, I could handle anything.  

I was stupid.

I was naive.

And I was dead-ass wrong!  Because I hadn't yet met the wonder that it Audrey Carmichael.   

A brown cardboard box went flying out the door, causing two kids, a fiery redhead and a tiny black kid, to dive out of the way, shouting in outrage and yelping in pain. 

"Hey!  That's my stuff!" I shouted, hobbling forward faster than usual, Kitty in tow.  "Take it easy, it's been beaten enough as it is."  But the only response I got was seeing the door to my new room slam shut from within.  A crowd was starting to gather as I scrambled to pick up some of my more 'personal' items, which were thrown from the now-crumpled box.  

Kitty banged on the closed door with her fist.

"Damn it, Audrey!  Open up!" she shouted, pounding ferociously, all the while the crowd of kids hovering around seemed to grow exponentially.

"Stay outta tis, Pryde!" a muffled voice called though the door.  I thought I detected a trace of Spanish accent, but it was hard to tell through the solid oak.

            "You know this door won't keep me out, Audrey!" Kitty shouted again, though she'd since stopped pounding.

            "Yeah, but you'll stay out unless you want everyone ta know 'bout tat birthmark…" the voice from inside trailed off and Kat-girl once again turned a violent shade of purple.  A guy pushed his way through the crowd and stood next to her, clutching something in his hand.

            "Want me to smoke her out?" he asked, flipping something sliver from one hand to the next.  I think it was a lighter.

            "NO!" was the resounding reply from not only Kitty, but the entire crowd.  The boy looked crestfallen.  Kitty's blush faded and she put her hand on his shoulder, turning him slightly.

            "No no, really, that's okay John," she assured him, looking more comfortable the further she got him from the wooden door.  "Thanks for the offer, hun."  She gave him one final shove back into the melee, then turned to the situation at hand.  There was a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to find myself looking up at the biggest kid I've ever seen. He clutched the remnants of the box between his massive hands, having gathered up the rest of my scattered belongings.  

            "Dis es your stuff, ja?" he asked, holding out his hands.  It was really sweet, I must admit.

            "Yeah, thanks."  Wow, did I mention that this guys was tall?  I mean we're talking Shaq eat your hear out tall.  This guy was 6'7, at least".  I think my school's…my old school's football coach would have wept at the very site of him.  Big guy held onto the box for me, but then turned to Kitty, seeming completely oblivious to everyone else around.

            "Katya, are you having some trouble geeting into sa room?" he asked, having either just shown up, or being inherently slow on the uptake.  "I can bash it open for jou," he offered.  I was starting to see the seriousness behind Kitty's earlier advice.  Once again, there was a resounding,

            "NO!" from the crowd.  I groaned.  This situation was going downhill very fast now.  In fact, I was almost positive that I was at rock-bottom.  A roommate who not only hated me before meeting me, but also refused to let me inside my room while embarrassing me in front of the entire school?  I mean, how much worse could it get?  

I really needed learn to stop asking that question, because one thing I've learned since then was that, as bad as a situation is, one thing is always certain: it can, and usually will, get worse (hey, who said I had to be an optimist?).  Which it did, get worse, I mean.  

Because it seemed that the crowd and all Kitty's shouting had attracted the attention of the school's other occupants.  It also seemed that many of the students hanging around failed to realize (or failed to care) that they still had one class left before school ended for the day.  And some of the teachers were not too pleased with this, including Kurt Wagner, mister DePaul Blue Demon himself.  

            Great, like I really needed to relieve our last meeting.  At least I managed to stay on my feet this time around.

*BAMF* 

            "Alright, vat in the name of heaven is going on?" he demanded though a cloud of acrid smoke, suddenly appearing in the middle of our fray.  In fact, he appeared just as Audrey tossed a nice string of phrases that even I wouldn't have been caught dead saying, let alone shouting into a crowed hallway.  "Vhy is my classroom empty?"  Students took off in all directions, scattering like insects from the light.  Doors slammed and footsteps echoed away until it was just Kitty, me, and the tall guy standing there.  Then devil teacher turned on us.

            "And you three, vat are you doing?" he demanded, yellow eyes locking onto Kitty.   I would have squirmed like a drowning worm under a gaze like that, I'm sad to admit.  See, where I came from people aren't blue and devilish looking.  I'm not a shallow person, but seeing someone that looked like him…well, it would take some getting used to.  Kitty was accustomed to it though, I guess, because she actually looked relieved.  

            "Professor Wagner, this is Audrey's new roommate, Zoe," she explained, prodding me in the back. I gave a small wave, all while fighting the urge to run screaming in the other direction.  "But we're having some trouble getting inside," she said, jerking her head towards the door.

            "Since vhen has a locked door ever stopped you, Kitty?" he asked.  She muttered something under her breath that none of us could make out, but I distinctly heard the word 'x-ray' and 'blackmail'.  

            "Ah, vell in that case, what vould you like me to do?" he asked.  "Before I give you detention for being late to class, that is?"  Tall-boy (note to self: must learn tall-boy's real name) groaned and Kitty rolled her eyes, so I got the impression this wasn't the reaction they were expecting.

            "Um, excuse me," I jumped in, despite feeling that I would come to regret doing so.  "Look, don't punish them for being late.  I asked them to stay and help me out," I explained to blue boy, wondering if the little 'liar' sign on my forehead was flashing yet (I'm a terrible liar).  Devil teacher (aka Professor Wagner) then seemed to finally notice I was there.  Bad thing, because then he finally recognized me.

            "'Ave ve met before?"

            "Um…yeah.  I was on the floor, screaming, while you were having a brief encounter with a medical cabinet," I muttered embarrassedly, but it seemed to spur Wagner's memory.

            "Oh, I remember you.  The loud vone," he said, nodding.  I rubbed my arm, blushing.

            "Uh, yeah, that's me."

            "Vell, velcome to the school," he said, totally unperturbed by the odd situation we were in.  "Kitty, Peter (yes!  Tall boy has a name!), I'm going to let this slide, but I vant you two to class on time from now on, understood?" he demanded, turning back to Kitty and tall boy (or Peter, I guess).  They both nodded.

            "Now Professor Wagner, about the door…?" Kitty prompted.         

            "Oh that.  Vell, let me see vhat I can do," he said, and he got the same mischievous look in his yellow (um, okay) eyes that the Professor had when we first met.  That was right before he vanished in a cloud of vile-smelling smoke with a faint

*BAMF*

"I swear all the teachers here are nuts," I declared, hacking on the smoke as it faded.

            "Your roommate's locked you out and you're worried about the staff?" Kitty asked, amazed.

            "Only because I've already learned and accepted the fact that the students are nuts," I assured her.  And that's all I had time to say before the screaming from beyond the door started. 

"OH NO!  Kurt, git outta here!"  There was a loud bang and what I think was the sound of glass breaking.  

            "Audrey, vhat are you doing vith the lamp…?"

            "You got two options Wagner.  Either 'BAMF' your way outta this room right now, or prepare to experience 100 Watts of pure terror."

            "Funny, I should have that warning printed on my ass," I muttered under my breath.  Kitty and Peter Tall Boy wrenched  their eyes away from the door so they could both shoot me a funny look.  I really wasn't ready to explain that comment just yet.  New topic, new topic!  I jerked my thumb in the direction of the bedroom.  "Where does she get off talking to a teacher like that?" I demanded.  All eyes back on the door.  Phew!

            "Oh, well she's got dirt on everyone here, so they're all scared of her," Kitty explained.

            "Oh, like the dirt she's got on you?"

            "Yeah, well, she puts x-ray vision to good use."  It was amazing how much bitterness Kitty managed to pack into that one tiny statement.  That must be some birth-mark she's got.

            During our entire conversation the screaming, as well as a symphony of bizarre and…disturbing noises, was continuing on in the background.  

            "Gott help me!"  

            CRASH

            "I swear to all that you consider holy, Kurt, you get away from that door…"  But Audrey never got to finish that threat because a heavenly noise penetrated the sound of her voice: the telltale 'click' that signaled my freedom!  And open sesame…

            "DUCK!"  I hit the deck, Kitty hit me and kept right on going, and the airborne book, originally aimed at my head, hit Peter in the balls with a metallic CLANK!

            "Owwff!"  Peter hit his knees, my stuff once again went flying, and I lay there on the floor trying to recover from what felt like being hit by lightening (well, or what it must feel like for normal people who get hit by lightening).

            "Kitty…don't…ever do that…again," I groaned, which is exactly the moment Audrey emerged from the shadows, clutching another book in her hand.

            "So, you're the new girl I'm spos'ed to put up wit?" she hissed, glaring with a nasty grin.

            "Yup.  And, you're the chick with the shity aim that _I'm _supposed to deal with?" I shot back, pulling myself up (once again), with the aid of Kitty's and Kurt three fingered hands.  The floor and I were starting to develop a very good relationship.  Spending so much time together will have that effect, you know?

            "Not a good idea," Wagner whispered as I got my balance back.  "Try _not_ to antagonize her."  Then he went to aid Peter.  "Audrey, shape up!" he added, addressing the vile girl from a safe distance.

            "Joust one of does days, I gouess," giant-boy moaned, gripping the doorframe as he struggled to get back to his Idaho-sized feet.  If he didn't look like he was in so much pain, I would've thought he was mocking me.

            "I'll shape you up if you don't git outta here, right NOW!"  She cocked her arm back and prepared to hurl a hard-cover copy of The Lovely Bones at Peter and Kurt standing in the doorway, but the shot didn't connect with anything as both of them vanished in a cloud of Kurt's purple smoke.

            *BAMF*

            "As for you, Pryde (I take it that was Kitty's last name), you just hightail you pretty little phasing ass outta…" but Audrey stopped mid-holler, because Kitty was nowhere to be seen.  I blanched.  How could she leave me here with….what that she-devil?  

            "Kitty, I'm gonna kill you," I muttered under my breath.  While Audrey was preoccupied looking for Kitty (who I'm guessing, vanished through the floor, as any smart person would've) I pushed past her, dragging my box along with the foot of my crutch, and flopped down on my newly made bed.  Aud was furious when she saw that.     

            "And just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

            "I'm sitting on my bed.  What does it look like I'm doing?"  If she wanted to play the attitude game, than I'd match her shot for shot.  "My name's Zoe, by the way.  Nice to meet you too.  Thanks for the warm greeting."  Wow!  If looks could kill…

…Well, than I would have been dead in a heartbeat. I'm not sure there's a description of Audrey that can do her justice, but I'll try.  She was tall…okay, so everyone's tall to me, but she was easily pushing 5'11".  Long, black hair stretched half-way down her back, gripped in a lose ponytail.  Her skin was a dark, amber-brown, and I got the feeling that she was of Hispanic origin.  Great, so it wasn't enough that we were already clashing personality-wise, we had to be polar opposites physically, too!  I would have been jealous of her because, frankly, she was beautiful (said strictly heterosexual context, not that there's anything wrong with being gay…) but that was until I noticed that her mutation had some physical properties too.  As she stepped into the light I saw it more clearly.

            Each of her long fingers, still gripping her next projectile to aim at my head (I think she'd run out of books and moved onto picture frames), was covered with black-tan scales.  The scale pattern covered both her hands, twisting at her wrists and running up the back of her arms to disappear under her sleeves.  The pattern reappeared again along her collar bone (visible due to her low-cut blouse) and continued on up the back of her neck, bleeding into her hairline.  Jeez, and I though my scarring was bad!

            It didn't stop there, though, because as she flashed me another grimace/evil smile I glimpsed a set of elongated fangs where most people's canine teeth were.  And I couldn't help but notice how her fingernails rested higher on the tips of her fingers and we shaped more like claws (despite the bright purple nail polish on them).  Jesus, she was packing some serious weapons here.  What was she, snake woman?  I prayed that was the extent of her mutation.  X-Ray vision…well I could put up with small invasions of my privacy.  I didn't have any embarrassing birth defects or anything.  Besides, my most horrifying marks were right there on my left cheek.  What could she possible blackmail me with?  (Must learn to stop asking questions to which I really, REALLY don't want to learn the answers too…)  But I really wasn't ready to be flambéed on a set of claws, or end up looking like a vampire extra on  the set of _Angel._

I asked Kitty about Audrey a few days later, and she mentioned in passing that Audrey's vision was a continuation of her snake-like mutation.  Apparently most snakes can see [in] infrared or heat, spectra the human eyes can't process.  Audrey's genes had just decided to let the spectra expand to include X-Rays as well.  Nice of them, don't ya think?  Well, nice for here at least.  But back to that day…

            "Look chickie, let's git a few things clear before this deal goes any farther," my happy-go-lucky (*snort!*) new roommate said.  "Tis is _my_ room, not yours.  Don't mess with my stuff, don't touch my stuff, hell, don't even look at my stuff."

            "Whatever," I muttered, trying to sound tough, but I just ended up sounding stupid.  I rolled over on my stomach and began reading Audrey's former choice of ammunition: an ancient copy of 1984 by Orwell, which I'd grabbed off the floor.  This, apparently wasn't the reaction Audrey was hoping for.

            "Look at me when I'm talkin' to you, girl!" she demanded.

            "Why?  Look, you don't even know me and you hate me.  You obviously don't want me here, and you've made that point _very_ clearly.  I get it, okay.  I won't bother you, so why are you so intent on bothering me?" I asked, still feigning like I was reading.

            "Just keep your distance, bitch."  Okay, that was it.  I may be a sarcastic, cynical, and often times annoying person, but that does not make me a bitch.  I'd hardly said two words to this girl and she was jumping down my throat.  Maybe she didn't want to share her room (granted, I could understand that) but then go yell at Jean.  I didn't decided to shack up in her room on purpose.

            "Look, I don't know what crawled up your ass and died, but get over it.  Okay?  I'm trying to be civil here, and considering the fact that you locked me out and then threw things at my head when I actually got in, I think I'm doing a pretty damn good job.  But I'm not going anywhere, we're stuck together, and I know you think that blows.  Trust me, I ain't thrilled about it either, but I suggest you get used to dealing with me, kay?"

            For the second time today, her response was to slam the door.  But hey, I was on the inside this time, so I wasn't complaining.  I flopped across the mattress on my back and stared at the ceiling fan, spinning idly above me, contemplating the mysteries of life (mine, in particular).

Let's see.  My roommate is out to get me, one of my teachers disappears figuratively, another disappears literally, the only girl I know walks through walls, of the three guys I know, ones a complete pervert, one can light fire to my door, and one has metal nuts, I'm living out of a box, in fear for my life, and in a building filled with stairs that I can't use, not to mention the fact that I have a psychotic cult on my tail and my principal can read my mind.  Hell, the day's not even over yet!

Someone stop the ride, I want to get off!

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A/N: Who wants to know a little, interesting, behind-the-music type fact?  I wrote up a few different drafts of this chapter, each with a different teacher intervening.  There was a chapter with Logan, with Storm, and with Jean.  I also wrote part of a chapter where Remy came to the rescue, using his thieving skills to pick the lock.  I decided on Kurt not only because I want to include him later, so I should get used to writing him, but because I got a few requests (JB, this is for you ;) for more Kurty goodness as well.  There, enjoy! 


	28. The Iceman, the Witch, and the Weirdo

A/N:  Okay, I feel really stupid right now.  See, I was assuming that everyone was as obsessed with the old comics and cartoon as I was.  So I'm gonna answer a few questions because it seems that I've lost a few (dozen) people :)  First off, Jubilee is a real character.  Like Dr. Hank she had a small cameo in X2.  I think her one line was 'Professor, are you okay?'  She also had the cameo in the first movie, but it was cut and can now be found in the deleted scenes.  Second, (www.mutanthigh.com) is one of the best X-Men sites on the web.  Check out their site and on the main page click on the tab that reads 'life sciences'  Once there, click on Cerebra's files and there you'll find a directory of almost every X-character (mutant and non) ever created.  Confused about any characters, you'll find more than enough info there.  Third, Audrey is another OC of mine.  I've read dozens of stories where the new girl shows up and rooms with Marie or Kitty, so the only real way to be original there is to create your own roommate.  As for the setting of this story, it's not really AU.  Think post X3 (you know, Jean's alive again and there's way more characters that are supposed to be in the actual X3).  So it' set in the future of the movie-verse, though I've altered some ages a little to make 'em fit better.  There, that should answer some questions but if you have any more that I've overlooked or whatnot, feel free to e-mail me with them or submit them in your reviews.  Now I want to apologize because this has turned into somewhat of an essay.  On with the story…                    

Soundtrack Of My Life-Song #10:

_"If you're losing sleep,_

_forgive me._

_I just can't keep pretending…"_

~Michelle Branch

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            I probably could've sandbagged and barricaded my door, nailed it shut and laid a brick wall in front of it, and I doubt it would've kept them out.  By 'them' I mean Paige and Jubilee.

            My new neighbors.

            My new, younger neighbors who don't have a class last hour like most of the older students.  

My new neighbors who decided that they would make good use of their downtime by coming over and introducing themselves.  

They stood in the doorway, one behind the other.  A tall blonde with pigtails and cut-off jeans to rival Daisy Duke's was standing in front, wearing a grin that froze the blood in my veins.  Then she pounced.   

"Hi, Ah'm Paige," the blonde said, shaking my hand vigorously after having pounding on my door for a full five minutes (I'd been hoping that they'd leave if they thought I wasn't there, but no such luck).  I'm telling you, I have never seen a girl with a harder grip than Paige.  I think she squeezed all the blood from my limb back into my heart.  Unfortunately she didn't do it long enough to kill me and put me out of my misery.  "Paige Guthrie.  It is so great to have you here with us!" she cried exuberantly.  "Wouldn't want those boys outnumbering us now, would we?" she asked, looking at me as if the answer was obvious. 

            "No…because that would be just awful," I muttered in mock seriousness.  She completely missed the sarcasm in my voice.  I got the impression that that was a regular occurrence.

So let me bring you up to speed.  I spent an hour getting back into my bedroom, finally dodge enough flying literature to get past my psychopathic roommate, toss off enough sarcastic comments to then drive said roommate from the afore mentioned room, only to have it invaded by a walking eighties tribute in yellow pleather and a hayseed that would have made Laura Ingles Wilder look like a Cosmo writer from LA.  I felt like that poor coyote in the old Looney Tunes show.  You know, the one where every good idea the coyote has always backfires, he ends up with him getting hit with an ACME rocket, and by the end of the episode the poor guy (animal, whatever) is walking around in a cast with a black eye (sound like a certain someone) while the roadrunner stands on top of a cliff laughing and mocking him.  

I got the feeling that Jubilee was destined to be my roadrunner.  

I got that feeling in the minute Paige stepped out of the doorway and let the second girl through.

I got that feeling the instant I laid eyes on the fabled Jubilee.

            She didn't even bother with a handshake or an introduction.  No, no she went straight for the bear hug.  Yep, I was assaulted by a crazy Asian chick on my first day at school, how many kids can say that?  I later learned that almost every kid here could.  Jubilee is apparently a very tactile person…just never tell her that, 'cause then you have to explain what 'tactile' means, and then it just becomes a huge argument on definitions of words and Jubilee's lack of understanding of them, etc.  Trust me, Bobby tried to explain it one day and the results were not pretty.  But I'm getting off track again.  Where was I?  Oh yeah, being crushed by a girl half my size…

              "Welcome to the Institute!," the crazed hugger said to me.  Or rather, said to the shirt fabric on my shoulder as she pinned my arms to my sides with a strength that surprised me.  You know, I need a copy of First Impressions For Dummies because I can honestly admit that I have no idea what to do to shake off the hug of a perfect stranger.  However, not having that particular book in my collection (and not having had it thrown at me today), I decided to wing it.  Note to self, never wing anything EVER again.

            "Um…nice to meet you…whoever you are," I wheezed.  "But could you let me go…you're, um, cutting off my air supply."  She let me go and I dropped back to my feet…okay, to my foot, but let's not split hairs.  I was still standing afterward, which was impressive enough.  Crazy-hugger (which became my private nickname for her, just like 'Tall-Boy' had for Peter) had long, black hair and blue eyes.  Her features gave away the mystery of her Asian descent, and her grin gave away her perkiness.  

            "I'm sorry," she said.  Jeez!  For such a small person, she had a very loud voice.  She also didn't seem to feel that her behavior was at all odd.  Neither did Peg, or whatever her name was.  "It's just so nice to meet new people!  I'm Jubilee, by the way," she said, wrapping her arms about her waist like she was giving herself a hug.  "Actually, it's Jubilation Lee, but I just go by Jubilee."  

            "Good to know…" I said, regaining the feeling in my arms as well as my ability to breathe and speak normally.  I was remembering what Kitty had said earlier.

_"Don't **give **Jubilee coffee…or anything with caffeine in it for that matter…no sugar either…"_

I hadn't understood the seriousness behind those words until I met Jubilee, but boy was Kitty right.  This girl seemed to produce her own sugar-endued euphoric high.  I couldn't imagine what she would be like with caffeine in her system.   Well, actually I could picture it, but the picture was pretty frightening.  A shrill squeal yanked me out of my funk.  Jubilee was clutching her hands to her mouth.

            "Are you unpacking?" she asked sounding far, FAR too excited for my comfort.  I nodded, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.  She squealed again and threw herself onto my bed.  "Oh, let me help.  I'm great at organizing."  Without even waiting for a nod, she dove into my possessions, yanking them out and scattering them across the bed.  I shot Paige a look that I thought said very clearly 'is this normal?'  Paige obviously didn't speak the same silent language as me though, because her grin broadened and she flopped down beside her friend.    

            "Sure," I muttered bitterly under my breath.  "Feel free.  Just go through my stuff without asking.  I don't mind…" 

No I wasn't at all upset.  I stumbled over and shut the door, giving Paige and Jubilee time to stick their noses into every remnant of my past life, and giving me something to do so I wouldn't cringe when I heard pages ripping and things cracking.

            "This all you have?" Jubilee called over from behind me, quickly grinding my last nerve.  I tried to resist…I really did, but my sarcasm and bitterness levels were just running too high for me to resist.

            "Yeah, well rolling your car over a twelve foot drop into a ditch in the middle of a monsoon will pretty much destroy anything…including most worldly possessions."  Oh yeah, there was a crap load of bitterness in that statement.  Pretty much wiped the smiles right off both their faces.  Jubilee went back to smoothing out the wrinkles in one of my shirts, which she had draped across her crossed legs.  I think it was one of the only pieces of clothing I had left.  Meanwhile, Paige had surreptitiously picking here way through an old photo album that had survived, although bits of glass would fall out when she turned the pages.  There were several seconds of awkward silence before Paige interjected.

            "So, what's your power?"  I almost dropped the book I was holding.  'What is this?' I thought.  'Mutant small talk?  Can't we just discuss sex and movies like normal girls?'  I really need a mute button for the little voice in my head, I decided right then, but while my brain was preoccupied with that idea I heard my mouth reply,

            "Oh, I blow up classmates, destroy people's lives, and am accountable for the deaths of household pets.  How 'bout you?"  Despite how cold my answer was, it was probably good my brain was on a temporary vacation while I spoke.  I…I just wasn't ready to tell the whole world about what had happened; about what I'd done.  I'd have to come to terms with that myself before I shared it with other people.  My snide comment stunned Paige enough that she didn't delve any deeper into my life.  

            Jubilee, however, was quickly reinforcing my belief that underneath that midnight black hair of hers, she was really blonde.  She completely missed the sarcasm and never even diverted her eyes from where she was picking glass shards from a pair of my blue jeans as she answered,

            "Oh, think of me as a human roman candle."  Paige stared.  I stared.  And once again Jubilee failed to notice.

            "Ooookay Jubes, I think you've had enough for one day," Paige muttered, breaking the silence for the second time today.  "C'mon, let's leave miss pleasant here to her work.  She's obviously busy…" she said, grabbing Jubilee by the shoulder, looking a little hurt.  Oh jeez, I hadn't meant to be that nasty.

            "Look Paige…I'm sorry…" I started.  But the blonde continued hauling Jubilee off the bed and began pushing her out the door, much to her disgruntlement.  

            "Paige, what are you doing…Stop, I wanna stay…"  But Paige was very bitter in her comments, and she wasn't being very gentle with her roommate either.  I hadn't meant to offend her that much.  I guess I was crabbier than I thought.

"No, no, Jubilee," Paige said, shoving her back out the door.  "We'll just be going no-Hey!"  The exclamation was due to the fact that I'd hobbled over and grabbed her shoulder just as she was walking out the door.  "What the hell-?"

"Look…I didn't mean to piss you off, and I appreciate the warm welcome, I really do," I tried to explain.  "It's just…it's just that I haven't been around this many people in almost a month and a half, and last time I was all hell broke lose."  I threw my hands in the air out of frustration and lack of a better thing to do with them.  Paige's temper was obviously not that easily quelled, however.  She snorted in my face.

"Whatever," she muttered, flipping her pigtails in the air as she left.

I slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, afraid that if I moved more people would show up and I'd just managed to piss them off as well.  I was getting the feeling that I would need as Master Smith lock for my bedroom as well as my mind.  Oy vey!  

            Figures, doesn't it?  Audrey was determined to make my every waking moment a nightmare, so why not ruin my sleep as well?  Yes, that's right, not only was she a crazed psychopath, but she snored too.  Just…freakin'…great!  By 2:00 am that night I'd already given up hope, so I decided to go for a little stroll to clear my head (and to prevent me from smothering my roommate with a pillow).  I ended up in the lounge at the end of the hall, sitting on the couch and idly channel surfing.  Let me assure you, it doesn't matter how many satellite channels you have, everything on during the graveyard shift is crap.  EVERYTHING.  I'm not sure how long I sat on that couch for, but eventually I turned off the TV and I must have drifted off to sleep because…

_…The mountain loomed high in front of me, towering and lined with crags and ice.  I started climbing, hauling myself up one foot at a time.  I was making slow progress; my cleats kept slipping on lose rocks and I would dangle, hanging there in the pouring rain as the ground beneath me drifted farther and farther away.  The raindrops fell heavy around me as I scrambled for footing.  Kitty looked out at me from one glistening orb of moisture, Cassidy from another, Brittany from the next, Bryce from the following.  Their voices roared in a cacophony around my ears, their messages jumbled and obscured.  Finally I regained my footing, climbing higher as the air grew thin.  I could see the peak now.  My home was right up there…my family was waiting for me up there.  I scrambled and grasped and huffed until my hands clutched the apex beneath them.  But then…my right arm collapsed and flopped to my side, utterly useless.  My left leg followed suit.  I clung desperately with all the strength I had left, and just beyond my line of sight I heard footsteps coming towards me across the flat-topped butte._

_"Please, help me," I pleaded to the figure.  The footsteps approached quicker.  My fingers were slipping.  Then I saw shoes, and the bottom of a pair of legs.  Help was getting closer…closer…until…_

            "Ahh!" my hands flew to my mouth, reflexes helping me mask my surprised outburst.  Heart racing, my eyes flew open as I flew upright.

            "Ahhhh!" cried the guy standing right over me, flailing backwards and disappearing from sight behind the couch back.  Couch?  Where the hell was I?  I peered over the backing and onto the floor, where my surprisee lay sprawled out, spread-eagle style.  Blonde hair, blue eyes.  Boxers.  Four pack.  Nice!

            "Sorry," I murmured to the human carpet.  And I couldn't resist adding, "I guess that'll teach you not to sneak up on sleeping women."

            "Learned that lesson a long time ago," he explained, pulling himself off his ass.  "Thought you were a boy."  Great, nice abs and he could dish it out!  Two for one deal!  

            "Gee thanks, I'll remember to be more feminine next time you scare the shit out of me," I said.  "That'll make you screaming like a little girl sound _way_ more masculine and imposing."

            "That's all I ask," he said, straightening up.  I fought down the urge to laugh.  For once, it wasn't me on the floor, haha!  "I'm Bobby, by the way.  Sorry I scarred you."  

            "Oh right, Icepick," I said, nodding.  He grumbled something under his breath, his face going beet red.  'Right, dumbass, that's what you're _not _supposed to call him,' I reminded myself.  Well too late now…besides, a kid that pale looked funny when he was out –blushing a cheery.  And he deserved it after that 'boy' comment.

            "Iceman," he corrected, and I noticed a small layer of hoarfrost forming around where his hands rested on the couch.

            "Same difference.  I'm Z-," I started.

            "Zoe, yeah I know."  I spent a full second thinking this guy must be another psychic, before recognizing his face from the crowd the day before.

            "Oh, so you saw yesterday's little incident?" I asked.  To my surprise, he snorted.

            "I think the entire school saw what happened and, trust me, that incident was far from little."  I groaned inwardly and threw up my hands.  The whole school probably thought that I was nuts (they were right, mind you, they just didn't need to know it).

            "Great, just fricken' great!"  Ice boy there chuckled, and while I considered telling him where to stick it, I decided against telling off the one person at this school that seemed (at least slightly) sane.

            "Yeah well, don't sweat it," he assured me.  "You've got a ways to go before you top my first week here."  That definitely piqued my interest.

            "Why?  What'd you do?"  Bob there turned red again, but this time because he was embarrassed, not angry.  He shifted his hands nervously over his bare arms, as if deciding whether or not his wanted to share his wisdom (once again, *snort*).  Finally,

            "I, uh…well I slipped in the shower, right?"  I nodded.  "So I grabbed onto the shower head to keep from falling-,"

            "Plenty of experience in that department," I chimed in helpfully, seriously liking where this story was going.  Bobbo then went on.

            "-Yeah, and well anyway, I ended up freezing every water pipe in the house solid."  Okay, I know I'm a terrible person for this, but I snorted at that.  And not mentally this time either.  This one was out loud.  I felt bad for it, I really did…but, c'mon, frozen pipes!  "We had to use bottled water for three days until all the pipes thawed, and we had to shower at the YMCA down the street."  

            "Okay, you beat the evil roommate experience hands-down," I conceded.  Ice kid's embarrassment seemed to fade a little at that.  "But my week ain't over yet, so there's still hope."  He outright laughed at that.

"Yeah, well here's hoping that my reputation remains intact…for your sake, at least."  He went to leave, but stopped in the doorway and looked back.  "You'll probably want to get dressed.  Breakfast'll be ready soon, and you don't want to go to your first day of class on an empty stomach," he said, turning to go.  'Trust me on that fact."   

            "Yeah…thanks," I muttered thickly through a yawn.  Stretching as I went, I hobbled down the hall, thrusting the dream to the back of my mind.  After so many weeks of sleeping with the aid of sedatives and painkillers, I'd forgotten about how bad the dreams were.  But no matter, more important things to worry about at the time.  

Kids in various pajamas and looking various shades of exhausted were beginning to emerge from closed doors.  I wondered dimly about what I was going to wear today.  Jean had given me a spare change, but I'd worn it yesterday.  Oh well maybe that Kitty chick would lend me a shirt or something.  I reached my door and turned the knob…or I tried to turn the knob.  It didn't budge.

            "Oh you have GOT to be kidding me," I muttered, turning harder and rattling the metal orb loudly to no avail.  "AUDREY!"  At this rate, Bobby's record wouldn't stand a chance.

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A/N:  Now go review…oh, and BTW.  I just realized that if Zoe lives long enough, she's going to need a codename.  I've got a few things in mind, but I'd like to hear your suggestions before I decided on one.  If you have an idea please e-mail it to me (my addy's in my profile).  Don't send it in a review 'cause I'd like to keep it anonymous and a secret until I choose to reveal it.  Thanks!


	29. Too Much Information

A/N: Hi all.  Some more filler info, some more stuff on 646's little clan.  BTW, I have nothing against members of minority parties.  Please don't read anything into any of the Sect's discriminatory views.  Ho Hum!  Oh, Faith have fun on vacation.  Thanxs for reviewing even while gone.  Tiger, yeah this story is getting really long.  I'm starting to think it never will (it will, trust me) I'm just having trouble moving things along.  Oh, and if you get the chance go read my new story Not Ready To Lead about what happened to Peter and thee other escaped X-Kids after the attack on the mansion.  That's all, go read…

Knock!  Knock!

Charles Xavier looked up from where he was grading papers.  

"Come in," he said, surprised to see Hank McCoy's face peer around the corner.  "Hank, what a pleasant surprise.  Finally emerging from the depths of the medlab, eh?"

"I hate to admit it Charles, but it's strangely quiet down there right now," the big, blue doctor confessed, seating himself in a chair in front of the desk.

"Ah, having separation anxiety already?" Charles asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.   

"It's a little lonely without her.  Never thought I'd live to hear myself say that…"  Hank cleared his throat, embarrassedly. "Ahem, but I figured I could use this time to asked what you've managed to learn about who she's running from."

"Not who, Hank, what."  He reached into his desk and handed Hank a pamphlet.  "I called in a favor to a few of my old buddies still in the service.  What they managed to tell me was quite astounding."  
            "What they managed to tell you, Charles, or what you managed to pick from their brains over the phone?"  The Professor shot Hank a look, pausing in ripping Sam's physics paper to shreds.

"I don't ask where you keep your Twinkie stash, do I Hank?" he asked, warning the good doctor not to ask, not to tell.  Shaking his head slightly at his companion's hearty chuckle.  'But back to business,' he thought.  

"It's an origination known as The Sect," Charles explained, gesturing to the papers in Hank's hands.  "It was founded back in the thirties as an off shoot of a military school fraternity."  Judging by the dark and deeply troubled look on The Professor's face as he spoke, Hank had feeling that this story wasn't going to end happily.  "It was founded…well, its original purpose was to prevent the integration of military townships.  The group operated underground, doing everything from threatening potential property buyers to pulling stunts the KKK would never have dreamed of."  Charles paused, shaking his head as he spoke.  

"Now, I'm afraid, they've begun targeting most minorities.  Everyone from Hispanics to Homosexuals to-,"

"To mutants?" Hanks interjected, scanning the papers.  It was an insider record: minutes from an old Sect meeting in Virginia.  The details it carried regarding the 'disappearance' of a certain black Army patroller's family members was highly disturbing. 

"Exactly," Xavier muttered.  "Since their founding the group has spread throughout the nation, I'm afraid.  Taking root around most major military bases, and spreading amongst all the services.  And it just so happens that Paramount, Zoe's old town, is home to 50% of the staffers of Fort Krane."  Hank sighed deeply, burying his head in his hands.  This was so much worse than he'd first imagined. 

"That's undoubtedly why they've targeted her, but what were they planning to do when…if they caught her?" Hank asked.

"From what I've learned, the group's usual course of action is to try and prevent problems before they start, keeping the more 'undesirable' types away from their establishments if possible.  In the case of mutants, it's a little more difficult sometimes," Charles diverted his eyes from his friend, rolling his chair around to gaze out the window behind him.  "Usually they discreetly try to drive the mutant and their family out of town.  In Zoe's case, when her powers emerged so violently and so publicly, it was The Sect's idea of a publicity nightmare." 

"See, it would seem that The Sect has also been expanding beyond the bounds of the military, using today's modern media to their advantage, or should I say, the media's employees," The Professor continued, rubbing his temple with his fingertips.  "In the rare cases such as Zoe's, that's the group's next line of attack.  It usually involves covering up whatever incidents may occur and keeping them from the public eye.  But again, in Zoe's case it would seem that all did not happen as planned.  She eluded them twice.  After that, I wouldn't put them past killing her if she was apprehended, I really wouldn't."

"And this means what, Charles?"  Hank asked, struggling to comprehend all the information he had just been handed.

"This means that we have to be very careful, Hank."  He said a little sadly.  "Our newest student has some very dangerous enemies."


	30. Lookouts

"It's our communications and contact network…so far," 183 explained, gesturing to the computer screen in front of him.  On it was a large map of the United States, speckled with green and purple dots.  646 pointed to one spot in LA over his soldier's shoulder.  

            "What's that?" he demanded.

            "Well, the green circles are primary contacts.  You know," he turned to face his boss, gesturing broadly, "people linked directly to our group members.  Everyone from trusted family, to old class mates, to Sect contacts, discreetly of course."

            "And the purple?" 646 asked, although he had a hunch he already knew.

            "Secondary contacts.  Contacts established through our original contacts," 183 elaborated.

            "I know what secondary means, you twit!" 646 barked.  183 flinched and faltered, inching back ever so slightly from his leader's prominent arm.  

            "Of course sir," he apologized quickly.  "Sorry.  Ahem…so anyway.  Most of the secondary contacts are military based, so we don't have to worry about discretion on their behalf-," he was saying, when 646 cut him off.

            "What about the family members you mentioned earlier?" he asked, seeing a potentially fatal flaw in the plan.  "We can't afford any liabilities."  They couldn't have sentimental mothers and fathers interfering with their search.  But 183 shook his head.        

            "No problems there boss.  They think we're participating in one of our colleague's search for his runaway daughter."  646 had to agree that it was a pretty decent cover story.  "We even said that she had a drug problem to explain any odd behavior she might exhibit."

            "Good, that'll be sufficient," 643 replied.  'Unless she fries them to death,' he thought to himself.  But then he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.  "Is that all you had to show me?" he demanded rather harshly.  

            "Hardly boss," 183 muttered, turning back to the screen and clicking on a green dot.  "Check this out."  A second window appeared right over the dot.  646 leaned over and read.  "Composite information, contact information.  Hell, I even have these people's family trees on file!" 183 said triumphantly.  "And there's a least one number for each person where they can be reached at all times, day or night."  646 had to hand it to him, the kid was a computer whiz.  Not that he'd ever tell him that, but…

            "Well done.  But, why is there only a map for the US.  What if she went over seas?" 646 asked suddenly.  It was a very real possibility that none of them had thought to consider.  But 183 just shook his head smugly.  

            "I took the liberty of consulting one of my friends back in New Jersey, who's a profiler for the police up there.  We went over her stats and family history and whatnot.  He felt it was highly unlikely that she would leave the country, and I was inclined to agree.  She hadn't worked in a while and her parent's bank statement didn't show any unusual withdrawals, so she wouldn't have had sufficient funds to get very far anyway."

            "I'm impressed, kid.  Very thorough job," 646 complimented.  His patience had been running thin lately, and he'd been pushing his boys extra hard.  He had to remember to keep their spirits up.  They were still healing from the loss of their comrades, and setting a bunch of berated and worn men out into the world wouldn't help anyone.  "So what did your friend have to say about where she might _have_ gone?"  183 shrugged.

            "We couldn't pinpoint it specifically.  But he felt that after we tracked her into Wisconsin it was likely she wanted to put some distance between her and us.  She's fairly bright, so she most likely headed somewhere urban, where she'd be able to blend into the crowd and even the weirdoes are overlooked.  Aside from that, the only limiting factor she'd have would be how much gas she could buy."  183 shrugged again.  

            "Which leaves…a whole lot of urban areas to look through.  Hell, she could be hiding right here in Chicago, right under our noses," 646 cursed harshly, feeling his frustration mounting once more.  So many dead ends, so many holes she could fall through and never be seen again.  183, who'd gone back to typing, seemed unperturbed.  

            "She's bound to screw up, boss.  She can't hide forever, especially after our police friends reported her car as stolen.  No, she'll screw up eventually, and then we'll have her."  That worried 646 immensely.  183 sounded far too cocky.  The last guys who'd taken that attitude around their little runaway friend had wound up dead.  None of them could afford to make that mistake again. 

            "Just keep that head of yours from getting too big, kid," 646 warned as he turned, walking back into the main portion of their warehouse hideaway.  "You don't want to wind up like your comrades."

"She's just a kid from the 'burbs, boss.  Don't underestimate her, but don't give her too much credit either," 183 muttered.  646 sneered angrily as his minion typed away furiously.

            "I don't plan on it."


	31. First Days and Crazy Angels

A/N: Alright, first order of business: Kudos to Tigereyes for (unintentionally) inspiring the majority of this chapter.  In her story Warning Label she has an author's note where she talks to her characters, which led to a comment I made about talking to fictional characters, which led to the consience conversation.  Thanks, TE.  Second order of business, never let me write chapters at 3 am while eating pixie stix ever again.  This is the result :)  And lastly, I'm leaving for vacation on Saturday, so this will be my last update for ten days (sorry.  I also plan to get the third chapter of Not Ready To Lead up before then too).  So, without further delay, enjoy the story…

                                                            Soundtrack Of My Life-Song #11:

_"Had no excuses for the things that we'd done._

_We were brave,_

_We were crazy,_

_We were mostly young."_

~Kenny Chensey

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm not wearing that."

"C'mon," Jubilee pleaded, brandishing the green halter top at me.  "It was made for you Zoe."

"I don't care if it's got my name embroidered on the tag, I'm still not wearing that." I declared.  

Mall.  

Saturday.  

Jubilation Lee.

Shoot me now.  Please?

Now mind you, I wasn't there by choice.  I was there because I had one shirt and two holey tops to my name.  And, true to her word, Jean had decided do bring Jubes along on this little joyride.  Consequently, Jubilee was doing the majority of the shopping

Apparently, in Jub-a-lala land, it isn't a shirt if it doesn't show most of your mid-rift, and they weren't pants if you couldn't see your thong over the top.  Which led Jubilee to her next fashion issue, but I drew the line at trying on butt-floss for my classmates.

Despite my reservations and constant bitching, my shopping bags were increasing in mass with every store we exited, Jubilee leading the way, chatting companionably with Jean, me hobbling behind.  Then finally, just as I think I've gotten enough clothes to last me a lifetime and we can finally go home, no no, Jean decides to move onto furnishings.  Lamps and bookends, the whole nine yards.  

By now you're probably saying "Whoa, hold up a sec Zo, what happened to Friday?  What happened on your first day of classes?"  Well, seeing as I'm miserable right now anyways, I guess I should probably catch you up.  Where did I leave off again…oh, right, that morning…

Breakfast was, well…not really a meal.  More like feeding time at the primate house.  Only instead of flying crap, it was flying eggs.  And note to self: listen to Bobby's advice from now on, because showing up late, not a good idea.  See, by the time Audrey decided to leave the safety of her bat-cave (aka our room) I was already late.  So after throwing on the only clothes I had and trying to make myself look somewhat presentable (not going to happen considering the state that my face was in, but anyhoo) I was signaifgantly late.    

So I'm making my way down to the dining room, no sweat, and I start thinking, 'hey, maybe this'll be a good day."  And that's when I realized that I was following the noise to find my way.  Now I know it doesn't seem like that big of deal, so I have good hearing.  So kids are loud.  So what?

The dining room is on the opposite side of the mansion, that's what.  And the big double doors were half closed.  Starting to get my drift?  Thought so.  I peered cautiously into the room, noting the kids seated at one long table in the middle, with picnic style benches on either side.  The teachers were all eating from a smaller table in one corner, and along the far wall was a huge buffet table loaded with food.    

My breath caught in my throat as I entered the room.  Children.  Teens.  School.  It shouldn't have, but it took all my will power to keep from sprinting out of there at that very moment.  It wasn't the fear of meeting new people, or of being thrust into the much hated spotlight of the 'new girl' that made my knees feel unstable beneath me.  It was that, in the back of my mind, on an almost instinctual level now, I associated school with death and despair.  With guilt.  The very foundation of my being shook for a moment there, as I stood poised on the knife blade, plunging rapidly towards 'losing it' side.

Then I saw a pair of yellow-bangled hands shoot up in the air and begin waving wildly. 

"Hey Zoe!  Over here," Jubilee shouted over the din, pointing to a gap on the bench next to her.  "I saved you a seat!"  I started plunging faster at that.

"Oh hell no," I muttered under my breath.  I probably could have shouted it and no one would have heard me, but I occasionally play in safe.  And that's when all time froze so that I could have a little discussion with my conscience.

Yes, I do have one, and yes, she does show up every now and then.  Today was one of those times.  Now I don't know about yours, but my conscience isn't all cute and happy-go-lucky like Jiminy Cricket.  No, she was your typical, sit on your shoulder, halo and all, angelic little bitchy conscience.

Except that she carried a pitchfork.  Our conversation, if you can call it that, went a little something like this:

_"Oh, you again," I mumbled._

_"Hey, don't sound so excited," she said sarcastically.  "I'm not doing the happy dance over this either."_

_"Alright, I'm gonna ask again: you're an angel, so what's with the big, pointy stick?  Shouldn't you have a harp or something?"  She snickered and poked my shoulder painfully with her 'big, pointy stick'._

_"We've been through this before," she said, burying her glowing little face between her glowing little hands, "you're stubborn.  So if I'm going to get you do anything right, I'll have to do it by force.  Besides, you're not musically inclined, so therefore I'm not."  _

_"Ah, right.  So why are you back again?" I demanded.  She flew off my shoulder and hovered in front of my nose like an annoying, glowing fly or something.  I fought down the urge to squash her like a mosquito, but thought the better of it.  That stick really hurt._

_"I'm back because of her," conscience answered, pointing one heavenly glowing finger at Jubilee, who was frozen in mid yell/wave._

_"What?" I asked, a little slow on the uptake, as usual.  "Jubilee?  You're here because of Jubilee? _

"_Ding, ding, ding.  That's a correct answer.  Johnny, tell our contestant what she's won!" she crowed sarcastically.   I shot her a fish-eye._

_"That was NOT necessary," I muttered.  She flew back and forth in front of my face, just to taunt me, I swear_

_"No, but it was fun."_

_"Aren't you supposed to be all  helpful and angelic and, well generally, nice?" I asked her.  Get this, she snorted in my face.  SNORTED.  In MY face.  That's my job._

_"Yeah well, what do you expect from a conscience that's formed from a mind like yours," she countered._

_"Good point," I admitted.  Sighing I asked, " So what am I supposed to do?"_

_"Oh, I don't know.  You could start by, maybe, not being a bitch to her," she murmured.  "But that's just a suggestion."  Oh, one of these days I'm going to toss her out a window.  _

_"Look, I don't know if you understand this," I said, throwing my hands out towards Jubilee.  "But she's a freshman!  If I was at Paramount right now, I wouldn't even acknowledge her!  And would you have a problem with that?  I think not!" I raged._

_"Ah, but there's no freshmen here, just the upper and lower class.  So whether or not she's the same age as a freshman, she's in your class now," the little glowing bugger explained.  Then she got that evil glint in her eye; the same glint that I'd seen far too often at this school.  "Besides, you liked Phoebe."_

_"Okay, first of all, Phoebe was my left fielder," I explained rapidly.  "If I wasn't nice to her she wouldn't have saved my ass all those times she did.  And two, she might have been a froshie, but she was on the varsity softball team.  That automatically gives her upperclassman status."_

_"Phht!  Whatever," she hissed under her breath, flying back down and perching on my shoulder.  I got the feeling that she was getting ready to leave (thank God) so I decided to ask something I'd always wondered after these 'visits'._

_  "So, how do you do the whole time freezie thing anyways?"  She snickered evilly again._

_"I didn't stop time.  This is just all in your head."_

_"Oh," I said, a little deflated.  The little, floaty, glowy, evil one just sighed._

_"Just be nice, okay Zoe?" she asked, giving me a sharp poke in the shoulder with her pitchfork._

_"Zoe?"_

_"Zoe?"_

*SNAP*

"Zoe?"  I grabbed Kitty's hand mid-air before she could snap at me again.  She was giving me the same fish-eye that'd I'd been give 'moment' earlier by my nasty excuse for a heart.  "You okay hun?  You're kinda staring blankly there."

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head slightly to clear it.  "Spaced out for a sec.  Not enough sleep," I lied.  Kitty shifted her food tray from one hand to the next as she spoke.

"Yeah, I heard.  Don't worry," she assured me.  "We've all spent a few nights on that couch."  My…jaw…dropped.

"I told one person about that, and I come back twenty minutes later and half the school knows!" I exclaimed.  Kitty suddenly became very interested in her feet.

"Actually…" she muttered, "the entire school knows."   

"What?  Do you guys have like some telepathic gossip network or something?" I demanded, feigning anger.  

"Pretty much," she mumbled, digging into her pockets.  "Before I forget, I ran into Jean in the hallway.  She wanted me to give you this."  She shoved the crumpled paper into my hands, before grabbing at her quickly slipping food tray.  "Just grab a tray over there, and come sit with us," she yelled, walking towards the long table.  I glanced at the crumpled note

Zoe~ 

**Your class schedule is as follows:**

**History**

**Math**

**English**

**Activity- See me this period to discuss possible courses**

Lunch 

**Physics**

**German**

**Physical Training-Report to the medlab this period until further notice**

**Just follow Kitty or Paige if you get lost.  Passing periods are five minutes long, so don't be late.  Good luck.**

**            ~Jean**

            Physics!  No one mentioned anything about physics!  I almost hit the floor right then and there.  And that was when I realized that this day was going to be far from good.              

It was going to be hell on Earth.

            I followed Kitty's instructions, shoving the note into the depths of my pocket before 'crutching' over to grab some chow.  Only two problems with that situation.  One, just as everyone had told me, the food had obviously gone fast.  There was hardly anything left but the crusty remains of scrambled eggs and a few soggy bacon pieces.  And second, how was I supposed to carry a tray and hold my crutches at the same time?!?  Oh yeah, what genius thought this up?  

            I considered walking out right then and there, just going back upstairs and crawling into my yet-to-be-slept-in bed and passing out for a few days, but my stomach gave an irritable rumble and I figured I might as well get this nightmare of a day over with.  I grabbed the last granola bar off a tray and limped over to join Jubilee.  

            "Oh, Zoe!" she squealed, hopping up as I came over and throwing her arm across my shoulder, practically knocking me to the floor.  "So glad you're here!"  Then she turned, waving her hand over the long table, full of student.  "This is everyone!

            "That's Sam."  Ah, coffee boy.  And, sure enough, he glanced at me over a cup of Joe big enough to bathe a small child in.  He also, I realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach, bore a striking resemblance to the blonde hayseed in the room next to mine.  "You know Paige…"  I gave a small wave in her direction but Paige, still sure that I was a rude, stuck-up, and cold-hearted bitch, just glared at me.  Okayyyyy, moving on.  "…Peter and Kitty."  Kit-Kat girl grinned over her oatmeal and the front page of today's paper.  Peter appeared to be asleep on the table  "John's over there," she said, pointing at the guy who'd wanted to burn my bed room door down yesterday.  He was more concerned with his toast than with Jubilee's little introduction bit.  "That's Remy…" she went on.  The Cajun pervert gave me a jaunty salute and then, get this, he winked at me.  I shuddered.

            "Yeah, we've already met," I muttered.

            "Okay, and that's Bobby," she pointed to the end of the table where Bobby (or the human-carpet, as I'd come to call him) was engrossed in the eyes of some brunette who had her back turned to me.  "And the girl is Rogue," she finished.  Now I tried to resist it, I really did, but I'm weak and the temptation was too great.  

            "Rogue?  What, were her parents hippies or something?" I finally asked, giving into the inevitable sarcasm.  Jubilee grinned that scary grin of hers as she sat back down and I (with much crutch juggling and one legged hopping) flopped down beside her.  

            "No, she has a real name, but she just likes Rogue better," she said, shrugging and munching on a piece of bacon.  "It's a very don't ask, don't tell subject."  

            "Ah.  Are they a couple?"  That would've explained the 'hands-off' vibe I got from Icepick this morning, and the come hither stare he was giving this 'Rogue' girl now.  

            "Ohhhh yeah," She whistled.  "Bobby is WAY off limits."  Good to know.  Shame though, he had potential.  Oh well.  I shrugged and peeled open my granola bar, trying to ignore the 'I'm going to beat you in your sleep' looks that Paige kept shooting my direction.  I got enough of those from the girl I lived with.  Speaking of witch (hehe!)…

            "Hey, where's Audrey?" I asked know one in particular.  Jubilee attempted to mumble something, but her mouth was full, so Kitty translated.

            "She doesn't eat with us," she explained, folding up her paper.  "She grabs one straight, black cup of coffee in the morning, and drinks it on the balcony, by herself."  Oh yeah, my roommate's normal alright.  

            "And who are they," I questioned, jerking my head towards the opposite end of the table, where the louder (and smaller) kids were happily scarfing down food.  Jubilee took a big swallow and then spoke up,

            "That's the younger class," she said, giving them a brush off kinda wave with her hand.  "I'm too tired to go through them all right now.  Maybe some sugar would help wake me up…" she muttered slyly, her hand snaking towards Sam's unguarded sugar packets.  She almost reached them when..

            SLAM!

            Peter's hand shot out from under his sleeping head and clamped down on her wrists, just inches from the white substance (hehe!).  

            "Damn!" she cussed under her breath, wrenching her hand out under the giant's.  Peter, never cracking an eyelid or moving his head, wound his arm back under his ear and went back to sleep.  "How do you do that?"  Peter's only response was a light snore.  Oh yeah, this place was real normal…But I didn't have time to dwell on that thought because just then a loud bell sounded and the kids all rose and began proceeding out.  I noticed that the teachers had all left moments earlier, so I figured that this was the start of classes.  For lack of something better to do, I followed the mob of kids and proceeded to class despite me lack of books or supplies, or desire to go.

I won't bore you with all the details of classes. Trust me, they'd put you to sleep as quickly as the did me.  I'll just give you the quick overview and we'll skip right onto lunch

            History- Well, I finally met the illusive Ms. Munroe.  You know, the one who's supposed to give me special training so I don't fry anyone else.  I also came to one conclusion in her class.  No, it wasn't a conclusion on WWI.  It was the conclusion that this woman was probably going to kill me.  She had that sugary-sweet attitude while she was speaking, the perfect demeanor to match her white hair, but I got the feeling that under her glowing personality was a person you seriously didn't want to mess with.  But, then again I could be wrong.  I'll just have to wait until Monday, my first training day, and see.

            Math- The sun was barely over the horizon and I was doing polynomials, how do you think I was?  Jean teaches this class and, for as good a talker she is, she has a really monotone way of teaching.  Think that teacher from Ferris Buler's Day Off.  Or, it could just be that my perception was altered by the fact that I HATE MATH.  Not as much as I hate physics, but close.  Hey, at least she didn't make me sit next to Jubilee though, so that was a plus…Ow!  ( I swear, as I was writing that, I felt something sharp poking into my shoulder. *shudder*) 

English-  Allow me to introduce you to the teacher here most likely to have a ulcer before the age of thirty five.  His name is Scott Summers, and apparently, he's the same Scott that Jean got lost visiting the day she was supposed to show me around.  He is rigid, he is uptight, and I seriously think that it must be because his underwear is a few sizes to small, because no one can be that tense all the time.  But then again, according to scuttlebutt, he's the one who scraped me off the road that night, so maybe I should cut him some slack.  Okay, just 'till we're through reading the Grapes of Wrath, that is.

Activity- Already exhausted and only halfway through the day, I tentatively knocked on Jean's office door. 

"Come in," Jean called, and I shuffled/hopped/crutch-stepped my way inside.  Jean was sitting at her desk, red pen in hand, grading what looked like a stack of quizzes.  She shoved them off to the side as I entered, and gestured for me to pull up a chair.  "So how's your first day?" she asked. Must…control…obvious…anger.

"Just dandy," I muttered through gritted teeth.  "Absolutely fantastic.  Couldn't imagine having a greater first day…" I rambled on.  Jean shot me the 'what are you, nuts?' look and I turned my mouth off.  

"Ahem, now," Jean began, leaning over her desk and tenting her fingers.  I shuddered for a moment, having a sudden Simpson's/Mr. Burns flash.  Ewww, creepy.  I shook my head, trying to bring my thoughts back down to this planet.  "We need to discuss what you're going to do for your activity period."

"What, you mean I get an elective?"  That caught my attention.  At least I wasn't going to have my entire schedule dictated to me.  

"Well, it's not so much an elective as it is a freelance study.  We don't have a big enough student population to have individual special interest courses," Jean explained.  "Well, that's not right.  The only classes we do have are auto with Scott, which most of the guys take, and Ororo does Tai Chi, which a lot of the girls take," she said, as if hoping that I'd settle for something easy.  I hated to disappoint her (*snort* ) but,

"I know how to change a flat and my oil already, and yoga really isn't my cup of tea," I muttered.  "What else you got?"

Jean shook her head, "Anything other than that is up to you.  Just write up a plan of what you plan to do, how you plan to study it, for how long, and what you'll need to do it, and then set-up a meeting with me, and we'll discuss it."  Jean picked up the top sheet in a stack of tests and began looking it over.  "I'll give you the weekend to think it over, alright?"

"What about creative writing?"  Jean stopped and I clamped my hands over my mouth, but the words were already out.  'Great job, moron!' I criticized myself.  I'd never let anyone read my work before, not even my mother.  Especially not my mother, who thought every sign of teenage angst was a cry for help.  What can I say, she watched too much Oprah.  If I'd let her read some of my bleaker stuff well…I'd have been enrolled in therapy and on anti-depressants faster than you can say Dr. Phil.  But now I was just going to let some _teacher _read my stuff?  Too late though. 

"That'll be fine," Jean decided after a moments consideration.  "I'll want to see a semester length outline of what you plan to peruse and complete on my desk by Monday," she said, going back to her reading.  I took that as my cue to leave.  And that's when it hit me: I had no idea what the hell I was going to do.

            "Oh crap," I muttered as I walked out the door and to my next class.  "I just had to cause another mess, didn't I?"

  
A/N: I'm not sure why, but none of the indents are showing up from some reason.  Sorry for the formatting issues, and I'll try to fix them when I get the chance ;)


	32. My BABY!

                                                            Soundtrack Of My Life-Song #12:

_"I'm just a kid _

_and life is a nightmare._

_            "I'm just a kid._

_I know that it's not fair.'_

~Simple Plan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            "Zoe?" Jubilee bellowed as several mall-goers turned to shoot her strange looks.

            I ducked down lower.

            See, Jean had said _Pottery Barn_, and then my brain had said no fricken' way.  So I had swiped the school funded credit card we'd been using out of Jean's purse when she wasn't looking, and was currently hiding behind a rack of men's football pads in _Play It Again Sports_.

            "Zoe?"  Jubilee shouted again.  She was currently wandering around the mezzanine, looking for me.  But as well as Jubes may have known the mall, I seriously doubted that she'd ever been in this store.  So I was free…for a little while at least.  So while I'm browsing for a gently used mitt (as I don't think I'll ever be able to play with my bloodstained one again) I'll pick up where I left off: sulking miserably through my first day at school like it was my 300th.  Don't worry…I won't be depressed the entire chapter this time around…

            Physics-  Why did they have to wait 'till TODAY to tell me I had to take physics.  Why do I have to take physics in the first place!  Me, of all people, should be excused from taking this course.  But alas, no cigar.  Wasn't so bad though.  The class was taught in the Professor's office and there wasn't generator in sight, so I though figured I was safe…for a little while, at least.  Then again, my teacher was a telepath, so that feeling of sudden calm I got when I entered the room might not have been exactly natural.  But that's another issue for another day.

            German-  You try learning when your blue teacher lectures while hanging from the ceiling.  Besides, I have very little patience with foreign languages.  The way I see it, you only need to know how to do two things when learning a new language:

1) How to ask "do you speak English?"

And

2) How to ask where the bathroom is.

            Parlez-vous Anglais?  Ou et le W.C.?  There, hand me my French degree.  Unfortunately we didn't cover those conversation topics in class, so I guess I have to show up on Monday, but that's alright.  A gravity defying teacher who puts cookie monster to shame in the 'blue n' fuzzy' department is at least an interesting distraction.

            Physical Therapy-

            "Can I move now?"

            "No."

**Fidget…Fidget…**

            "How's it look?"

            "Zo, do you want me to pull out those restraints just for old times sake?"  That bought a few extra seconds of stillness before…

**Fidget…Fidget…**

"So, what do ya see?  Can I take it off?"

            "I won't know unless you don't stop wiggling."  I stayed still for about exactly two seconds before the jiggling started again.

**Fidget…Fidget…**

            "How 'bout know?  Can I get up now?"

            "Zoe," Dr. Hank said in exasperation, "If don't stop moving, I'm going to put you in a full body cast, regardless of what's broken!"  Frozen like Bobby's ass, that's me.  Obviously today wasn't the day to play piss the fuzzy blue doctor off.  But, c'mon, this is me.  Prolonged periods of limited motion, not exactly my specialty.

            Especially when today might be the last day I have to endure with my hand arm in this stupid metal brace/castie thingie.  Yeah, you heard me.  It seems that the good Doctor was saving a surprise for me today.  Apparently three weeks and two days is the magical number after which point minor arm fractures might be healed.  Either that or he has no idea how to conduct a PT session and stalling for time.  But I could care less right now because I can hear sweet FREEDOM callin' my name!  There was just one flaw in the good doctor's plan: how does he possibly expect me to keep my hand still under that X-Ray doohickie for more than three seconds.  But God help me, I was trying.  I really was.  

            Then finally, in one giant burst of self control, I managed to keep still for an entire ten seconds.  Plenty of time for that little machine to take it's picture.  Had I been thinking clearly at the time, I would have just gone upstairs, hit my roommate with something, and she probably would have been more than happy to oblige the doctor.  But me…thinking clearly…yeah, wasn't gonna happen.  

            "Hm?"  What, that's it?  What's 'Hm' supposed to mean?  I don't speak German, let alone Doctor.

            "Well?" I demanded, leaping off the table and hopping one-legged style, dragging my crutches behind me, to peer over his shoulder at the monitor he was regarding  "What's that mean?  Am I free?"

            He turned to look at me, with that grave, serious, I'm-sorry-your-sister-is-dead expression plastered all over his face.  Oh shit!

            "What, I'm stuck in this thing for another month?" I demanded, thrusting my arm into the air.  Bad Idea!  Right crutch hit the ground, right leg crumpled, balance wavered.  I pitched forward and Dr. Hank caught me (again).  "See, I'm dangerous as a gimp!"

            "Well," he muttered, handing me my crutch, "then it's a good thing you can ditch that brace now."  I wanted to do about a million things at that moment, but I decided to only do two things: smack Dr. Hank in the arm for his stupid poker face, and attempt a modified version of the happy dance.  What is the happy dance, you ask?  Ever see the _Friends_ episode where Monica wants to go out dancing and Chandler won't go because he can't dance?  Remember how Chandler danced?  Just throw in some crutches and slight limping, and that's the happy dance.  

            "Ow!  What was that for?" Dr. Hank asked, rubbing his arm lightly.  I chuckled as I danced.

            "Don't be such a baby," I chided.  "You didn't even feel that."  Dance, dance, dance…

            "Alright, stop dancing!"

            "I like dancing," I shot back happily.  Okay, so my mood was much better now than a few hours earlier.  But you don't understand.  To a pitcher, being in a cast is like having you arm in prison.  Now, well parole here I come!  I started humming a little as I danced, Dr. Hank looking on with horror.  "C'mon, I'm not _that_ bad a dancer!"

            "That's it, I'm getting you a sedative…" Hank muttered, shaking his head 

            Woo Hoo!  Bring on the weekend, that's my motto…er, at least it used to be.  After the whole 'Saturday at the mall' fiasco it probably won't be anymore, but hey, were still stuck on Friday, right?  So I tore outta the medlab as fast as my crutches would carry me, swinging my newly freed arm for good measure.  After seeing that the door to my room was also wide open, I even dared to dream that my luck was turning around.  

            Bad Idea.

            'Cause, you see, when I dumped all my newly acquired school stuff onto my desk, the note from Jean fell out and it all came rushing back to me: having to plan an entire course, not knowing where to start, yada yada yada.  Must learn to stop getting my hopes up.  So, figuring there was no time like the present, I decided I might as well get cracking (plus I didn't want to be anywhere near the room when Audrey showed up).  And part one of my manical scheme meant hoping that my car really had become the blackhole my mother said it was, and that it had held onto a few of my missing possessions for me.

Bravely setting off down the hall, but still needing directions, I grabbed a hold of the first person I came to..  Dirty blonde hair, brown eyes.  Oh, his name was on the tip of my tongue.  Lighter in one hand…Jesus I suck at names.

            "Yo lighter-boy."  Close enough.  "Where's this auto-shop room I've heard about?" I demanded.  I'm not sure if he was pissed about his little impromptu nicknaming, or surprised at being stopped in the hall by me of all people, but he didn't melt my crutches, which I took as a good sign.

            "Go down the hall, take a left.  The elevator's at the end of the hall.  Get off on the first floor, take a right, then two lefts…"  Eyes…rolling…into…head…

            "Can ya just show me?" I cut in.  Jesus, this place was bigger than my entire former town.  Strangely enough, he was willing.  I followed behind like a good little puppy, as lighter boy (and he's now gained _his_ nickname, it seems) flipped that silver Zippo in a persistently annoying manner.  But considering he was helping me out, I managed to refrain from bitching.  After about ten minutes of walking…

            "Here we are," he said with a flourish, throwing open a door at the end of a long corridor ('cause this school is full of nothing but corridors).  "Welcome to The Auto Zone."  Okay son, lay off the caffeine from now on.  Then I looked inside.

            Scott, the math teacher who should have 'I need Zanax' tattooed on his forehead, had pulled my car into the main shop area of the three garage classroom.  There were other vehicles scattered about, in various states of disrepair, but mine was the worst.  I mean, it hardly resembled a car.

            "That's my car?" I asked rhetorically.  Lighter-boy smirked.

            "Correction, that's OUR car," he said gleefully, clearly enjoying my discomfiture.  "We're rebuilding in class."  I would yell about that fact later but right then, I was still in a mild state of shock.  

            "They  pulled me out of that?" I asked, looking at the fire kid in disbelief.  "That's not even a car anymore!"  Okay, so I was going slightly hysterical.  My voice was jumping octaves rapidly and I was gesturing wildly (good think the brace had come off _before _this little escapade).  But that was my baby!  My _BABY_!  Just lying there…gutted.  Lighter-boy took one look at my not-quite-sane-anymore expression and backed away a little.

            "Are you…are you going to cry?" he demanded.  "Over a car?"  Alright, so I wasn't the crying type, he'd probably already picked up that vibe off of me.  But this…this wasn't an ordinary situation.  He couldn't possibly understand…my _BABY!_

            "Maybe."

            It didn't take long for lighter-boy to decide that his time could be better spent elsewhere (meaning as far away from the psycho, car-crazed blonde as possible) and had quickly run off.  But he had served his purpose, and I now needed some one-on-one time with my vehicle.  

            "Oh baby," I muttered, my voice echoing in the dim auto shop.  I ran my hand along the totaled front hood  "I'm so sorry."  Alright, enough with the*crazy-girl* look.  I just have a close relationship with my car, okay?  And seeing it crushed like a beer can after and encounter with a frat boy's forehead was not exactly a morale booster.  Neither was the red paint job my blood had given the interior.  I shuddered, and squashed down the memories of the night as they threatened to resurface.

            The doors…if you could still call them doors, barely moved.  It took a lot of wiggling and prying (not to mention using one of my crutches as a lever) before I finally popped the passenger door ajar enough for me to worm my way inside.  Even inside it was a tight fit.  The passenger seat was missing entirely, though I wasn't sure if that was a cause of the accident or the renovation going on.  The walls were caved inward, and the driver's seat, still cloaked in its bright blue seat cover, was stuck in the reclining position.  Glass was littered everywhere.  It was not a very pretty picture.  

            Picking my way through carefully, I thrust my hand between the back seats, digging frantically.  

            "C'mon!  It has to be here!" I hissed under my breath.  "Years of work.  I can't lose all that!"  No luck between the seats.  I moved down to underneath the driver's seat.  Nothing….nothing…there!  my fingers brushed against something cool and plastic.  I latched on to it tightly, but it was stuck fast!

            "C'mon, you stubborn piece of crap!" I called wrenching back hard.  I flew backwards against the seat back, but the plastic, one-gallon, zip-lock baggie was clutched triumphantly in my good hand.  "Yes, thank you God," I muttered.  Inside were three notebooks, one red, one green, and one black.  You know the kind, spiral and lined, with a tan piece of cardboard for the back.  I don't know how they survived the accident.  Maybe it was a twist of fate, or an act of God or something, but my notebooks had once again come through in the clutch.  I hoped that all the good luck wasn't warn out of them quite yet.  I was going to need a boatload on inspiration if I was going to make this 'creative writing' thing work.  Here's hoping.  

            So maybe I can use that as an excuse.  I can blame it all on the euphoric high educed by my free right arm or my creative discovery.  Or I could just blame it all on stupidity and leave it at that, but then the mental argument starts up again.  I mean, at the time, how could I have know all the troubled such a simple act would get me into?  There was no reason to see such an action as a possible threat to my survival or, trust me, I wouldn't have done it in the first place.  But no matter how much I argue with myself about what took place that night, it still doesn't erase the fact that it happened.

            It was late, around midnight I suppose, and I was once again awake and feeling very alone.  Maybe it was just me coming down off of my happiness high, or it was because being the only person awake in a house full of people can do that to you, but either way I was a little sad, a little lonely, and, scary as it was, a little homesick.  I stumbled up into the library, tired of trying to find something good on TV, and booted up one of the many computers.

            Before I knew what I was doing, I had logged onto the Internet the way Kitty had showed me to earlier, and was staring at a blank e-mail page.  My head was telling me the idea was stupid.  My heart needed to unwind a little.  Who do you think my fingers listened to?  Before I knew it I was typing like a madwoman.  And my mouse hit the SEND button before I had a chance to read over what I'd written.  In fact, when Jubilee found me asleep on the keyboard the next morning, the only thing I remembered typing was

            _Dear Cassidy~_

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A/N: Hey peeps, remember me?  The author?  Yeah…I'm back.  Sorry for the delay, but first I had vacation (NYC rocks!) and then when I got back ramblingsofacrazywoman stole my inspiration stick, so I was a little lost on where to pick up here.  Don't hate me, it's not my best chapter, but were moving the plot along, slowly but surely.  Don't forget to review…oh, and SomeFan, glad you're not dead (I was starting to get worried there..)  Btw, if you get thee chance, go read my story Not Ready To Lead.  I think it's one of my best works, but it hasn't been reviewed in ages.  So have a heart, tell me if I should continue or dump it, like I'm thinking of doing.  Thanks


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